


The Evil That Men Do

by authoressjean



Series: The Haunted Hotels [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Case Fic, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Horror, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Like angst like woah, Mental Institutions, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychological Horror, Season/Series 10, haunted hotels, no child was harmed in the making of this fic, the boys on the other hand are going to get it and get it good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: Sequel to "The House of the Lost."The boys are only days past turning Dean back to human when Jody calls with a dire need: a little girl, lost in an abandoned hotel that used to house a mental asylum. Knowing the girl's life depends on them, Sam and Dean pack up and run. Their goal is simple: get in, get the girl, and get out.But the hotel is full of dangers they couldn't have anticipated, numerous ghosts around every turn, and one spirit determined to make their worst nightmares come true. For the Winchesters, those nightmares could very well end the world...or each other. And even if they survive the recent evils they remember too well, their brotherhood may be destroyed forever.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: The Haunted Hotels [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425697
Comments: 168
Kudos: 142





	1. Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End

**Author's Note:**

> So the one thing I loathe doing is numerous WIPs at the same time, but it's October, and that means it's time to get our spooky on! Hello, Haunted Hotel fic #4.
> 
> This one's going to definitely up the spook factor, so I hope you're ready! Please note the tags (yes, there is a happy ending planned, you should know me by now). This shouldn't be any more graphic than the previous fics, but there will be gore, horror, and some very bad language from the boys (trust me, it'll be deserved).
> 
> Titles of fic and chapters borrowed graciously from the Bard himself.

The bunker didn’t so much as echo with his footsteps. It was simply silent, quieter than even a tomb, and the stillness was difficult to break. It was peaceful.

Dean hated it.

For starters, he was a noise kinda guy. He’d gotten used to the bunker’s quiet after a while, even come to appreciate it. It was a nice break from the world, a secret place for them to be safe.

Usually. Usually the bunker only contained them and they were a banded force together.

Then Dean got a new tattoo, died, and woke up with a personality change, one that had sent Sam running for his life.

Dean shut his eyes and stopped his walk through the halls. Not just because he was tired, not just because he desperately didn’t want to think about almost killing Sam, but because there was a hammer-sized hole in the wall coming up that he couldn’t look at. He needed to patch it, he did, and he would. The Mark on his arm wouldn’t stop him from doing home repairs. He just hadn’t done it yet. It would take time and make noise, and as much as he loathed the stillness of the bunker at the moment, he also didn’t want to destroy the silence that Sam seemed to be clinging to.

His brother hadn’t spoken more than he had to in the past few days. In fact, Sam hadn’t said a word all day yesterday, and so far today, Dean hadn’t heard him utter a peep. Not that he’d spoken a whole lot after welcoming Dean back to the land of humanity. He hadn’t exactly avoided Dean, but he hadn’t come looking for him, either.

At night, there was definitely a lack of silence, but it was from nightmares that Dean could hear down the hall whenever he woke from his own. Shouts and bitten-off screams were far better than the whimpers and muted cries Dean could hear if he put his ear to Sam’s door. Lucifer, Dean himself, it didn’t matter what it was. It’d been a long time since Sam’s nightmares had been that bad, and Dean’s game of cat and mouse probably hadn’t helped.

Dean forced his eyes open and strode down the hallway, resolutely ignoring the hole in the wall. They’d be fine. They’d come through worse, and they’d make it through this too. Just like Sam’s arm, they’d heal. In time. Eventually.

_“’Cause there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you ain’t no choice at all.”_

He shuddered through his whole body and almost stumbled into the wall. _Please, if there’s anybody listening, let us get through this._ Because the pit in his stomach left him terrified that he’d lose Sam for good. He’d come after Sam in a lot of different ways, and usually Sam talked it out. Sam needed to talk it out.

The silence pervaded every part of the bunker. The last person Sam would probably talk to would be Dean.

Had he slept as poorly as Dean had last night? Nightmares of Dean coming after him, blaming him for Mom’s death, killing him?

He almost turned away from the main library, where he knew Sam usually holed up. Almost. But this wasn’t getting any better, and he had to know if he had any chance of Sam staying. If Sam wouldn’t talk, then Dean would have to start the conversation.

Resolutely he marched himself into the library, making sure his footfalls were audible. Last thing he wanted to do was sneak up on Sam. His brother deserved to not fear for his life in his own damn home.

Home. The bunker was home, finally, for Sam. And Dean might’ve ruined it for good.

Resolve weakening, he hesitated in the entry to the library, but it was enough for Sam to see him. For a brief moment, their eyes met before Sam’s eyes drifted back to his laptop. Dean felt his heart fall somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. Kitchen, he was just going to go through to the kitchen—

The silence was broken, loudly, by the scraping of a chair as Sam kicked out the chair on the other side of the table. Sam glanced at him again, briefly, then jerked his head towards the chair. A mostly silent invitation, still not looking at him, but it was an invitation nonetheless. One that Dean all but ran to accept. Not that he had anything to really do, but if Sam wanted him there, then he wasn’t going to say no.

Unfortunately, once he got settled into the seat and pretended to focus on a nearby book, the silence settled back down, weighing on him like a noose that threatened to choke him. Sam had turned back to his laptop, but there was no typing, no clicking, nothing except him resolutely looking at the screen. Still no sound, and definitely not looking at Dean.

Oh yeah, they were fine. Absolutely.

A phone suddenly went off, making them both jump. Dean resisted the urge to growl and reached for the cell phone – Sam’s, as it turned out – and saw _Jody_ across the front. “Jody, hey,” he greeted, putting it on speaker. “What’s up?”

“ _Dean, how are you? How’s Sam?_ ”

“I’m right here,” Sam said, speaking for probably the first time all afternoon. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean just got to it faster since he actually has two arms.”

“… _And you don’t?_ ”

The hesitant tone made Dean grin, and even Sam’s lips turned up. “Temporary thing, he just sprained an elbow.” _How_ he’d sprained an elbow, he still hadn’t said too much on, and Castiel hadn’t had enough mojo to heal him. Mostly because he’d been too busy restraining Dean.

Yeah, that was going down the path of Things to Not Think About.

“ _Well that makes me really unhappy about calling you two then, if Sam’s injured, but I don’t have anyone else I’d trust with this._ ”

“Injured or not, we’ll handle it,” Sam said firmly, and Dean nodded. Jody was family, or as good as. Anything she needed and they’d do.

Jody sighed. “ _There’s a haunting down in Tennessee. My friend and his wife were down there and have a problem with the local haunted place, some hotel from back in the—_ ”

“No,” Dean said immediately, Sam’s voice echoing behind him.

There was a pause. “ _Excuse me?_ ” Jody finally managed, sounding shocked.

“No,” Dean said again. “We don’t do haunted hotels. Personal vow. Just, no. I’ve got other hunters we can call—”

“ _The Howard Hotel is known to the public as being ridiculously haunted, Dean! There’s a reason I called you and not just some other hunter because this involves—_ ”

“Oh _fuck_ no.”

Dean’s head snapped over to Sam, where his brother had been typing at the laptop. Sam’s wide eyes were filled with horror, and he spun the laptop around for Dean to see.

The Wikipedia article was clear and concise. _The Howard Hotel, formerly the Howard Health and Mental Asylum, was shut down in 1971 after a rash of mysterious illnesses and deaths occurred amongst guests and staff alike. Survivors claimed to see numerous spirits…_

Numerous spirits in a mental asylum. “So not only is it a hotel, it’s a hotel that got built on top of a deadly psycho ward,” Dean said grimly. Sam’s face held all the fear and apprehension that Dean felt swirling in his gut. Like the past month or so hadn’t been bad enough.

“ _She’s eight, Dean!_ ”

Dean froze. Sam went still, face paling as Jody continued. “ _My friend’s daughter is eight and she disappeared yesterday. They think she wandered into the remains of the hotel but they can’t get in. The cops won’t help, they won’t go near the place. And I’ve got a court case this morning for the next few days where I’m acting as a material witness, I can’t go. I need you two. Please._ ”

It was one thing for it to be another haunting, it was entirely another for a missing kid to be involved. If there was any hope of them finding her, it was to get out there now.

The last thing he wanted was to drag Sam to a haunted hotel that, oh, just happened to have been an old insane asylum. Not when they were barely working together. Not when Sam could barely look him in the face.

Still, when Sam stood and leaned over towards the phone, his eyes stayed on Dean. “We need contact information for your friends and more details. We can be out of here in fifteen.”

Jody said something, relief evident in her voice, but Dean couldn’t hear her. All he could see was Sam, refusing to turn away someone in need, no matter whether he was injured. And he stayed focused on Dean throughout the entire thing, never wavering in his gaze.

Dean swallowed and finally nodded. If Sam was going to do this, then Dean was going to damn well make sure that he had back-up to do it. “Call you when it’s done,” he told Jody, then he hung up. Sam closed the laptop up and pulled it to him with his one arm.

“You, uh, need help packing?” Dean called as Sam headed towards the hall. He could help in that way at least, he could do something for his little brother. He waited, half-fearing the answer, no matter whether it was a yes or a no.

Sam paused, then glanced behind him with a raised eyebrow. “I think you need to pack, too. Though I can come help you pack if need be. That way, you’ll be sure to have clean underwear with you.”

The gentle teasing with the soft smile was almost more than Dean could bear, and his eyes burned for a moment before he blinked it away and mock-glared at Sam. “Dude, that was _one time._ ”

“And yet, so memorable,” Sam said, his smile broadening a little. Dean just rolled his eyes but felt his own lips turn up, relief so strong he thought he might tip over.

Packing, he needed to pack. It would take them all day to get down to wherever they needed to get to, and he didn’t want Sam to have to drive with his arm.

A little over twelve hours later, they pulled into their hotel for the night. It felt weird to just walk in and head straight up to a room, but Laura’s parents, Martin and Diane Rutter, had insisted. It was far nicer than their usual digs by a lot, but Dean wasn’t complaining. It’d be nice to have consistent water pressure for a change.

So he’d gotten a little spoiled, living in the bunker. Sue him.

Even as they knocked, the door was already spilling open, and there were the two worried parents, right on schedule. “So, uh, hi,” Dean said when they hesitated, clearly nervous, and after that, it was like a dam had opened.

They talked about Laura, showed pictures, and then explained the events of their day. “We were coming back from dinner and stopped by a park. Everything was fine, and then all of a sudden, Laura suddenly headed for the gates of the hotel. By the time we got there, she was gone.”

“Jody helped us, a few years ago,” Martin said, glancing at his wife. Diane nodded tightly, and there was an ugly memory there on their faces. But she reached out and took her husband’s hand and held it as firmly as she could, and he smiled at her, albeit with a great deal of pain. “Laura, she doesn’t remember what all happened, but we…we know there’s things out there that can’t be explained by your typical means.”

“The gates felt cold,” Diane added. “Everything felt cold. There’s something very wrong with that place, and Laura’s been in there for over 24 hours now.”

There was going to be no time to rest, and as much as he’d hated it at the time, Dean was glad that Sam had bullied him into taking a break and letting Sam drive for a bit. Because they needed to get into the hotel, now.

Which, of course, also meant a short amount of research time.

“Going in blind seems like our specialty,” Dean said as they headed back out to the car. “Did you get any decent reception while we drove?”

“Enough,” Sam said. He sat in gingerly and pulled the passenger door shut with his good arm. He grimaced as he did so, but Dean knew it wasn’t out of pain. No, it had everything to do with Sam thinking he couldn’t do the job with a bum arm, to which Dean would say a very emphatic _fuck_ that. Sam with one arm goosed was better than three hunters with capable limbs. He just had to remind Sam of that.

Opening up hadn’t exactly come easy lately, though. Hell, talking at all wasn’t easy. Not when it was Dean who’d come after Sam with a hammer.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean quickly started up the car. She roared to life like she knew time was of the essence. He waited until Sam had his laptop situated before he actually put the car in drive and tore out of the parking lot. “Okay, go.”

Somehow, despite the lack of valid reception and him having driven a good chunk of the way, Sam still had some answers, and goddamn did it make him ridiculously proud of his kid. “The Howard Hotel, formerly known as the Howard Health and Mental Asylum, was renovated and open for business in late 1968. It lasted for all of two years, and was officially shut down in 1971. Numerous complaints came from guests about seeing ghosts, hearing screams, and being disturbed throughout the night. They banked on it, from the looks of it, and the idea of staying in a haunted hotel drew a lot of people. There were talks of expanding the hotel and opening up more rooms, but then the first injury occurred to a woman who swore up and down that something tried to choke her. Two days later, three people died, one right after the other.”

Great. “Like a certain resort we dealt with,” Dean muttered. This was definitely ghost related, not because of some psycho with a hard-on for literature, but it didn’t make it any better that there were hauntings on top of hauntings. This sounded like a serious number of ghosts to contend with.

He had to ask. “Any axes?”

“No,” Sam said quickly, shaking his head. So he’d looked for that, too. “They’d either choked in their sleep or suffocated, according to the reports that I could find. Still not a fantastic way to go.”

If Dean had to count how many times Sam had nearly been the victim of asphyxiation, he’d run out of fingers and toes pretty quick. “I know,” he said. There was the road he wanted, and he headed towards the park.

“There’s been a few injuries and one death from then until now, a night guard who was found in the entryway from a heart attack. That’s it.”

“What about the crazy house?”

“You do know that most asylums were simply containing patients with mental illnesses like depression or bipolar disorder that they just didn’t know how to treat, right?”

“I never said the patients were the crazy ones,” Dean pointed out. “Like Ellicott, remember?”

“I almost killed you, Dean,” Sam said tersely. “That’s not the sort of thing I’d forget.”

Like Dean had almost killed Sam. Sam winced, as if thinking the same thing. “I wasn’t trying to say—”

“Hey, I know,” Dean assured him. Sam still looked pained and Dean waved him off. “I get it, all right? Neither of us got the other, we’re all good. Seriously. The doctors were worse than the patients. What about that side of its history?”

Sam paused. Dean dared to glance over and found Sam with pursed lips, eyes resolutely on the screen. “Sam?” he asked, frowning. “What about the asylum?”

With a sigh Sam shook his head. “There’s almost nothing,” he admitted softly. “I pulled up the Howard Hotel stuff before we’d gotten out of Lebanon, and I spent the next however many hours trying to dig into what really happened at the asylum. The only thing out there that anyone can agree with are the dates of its operation, where it opened sometime in the 1880’s and closed in 1955. Everything else is speculation.”

“Newspaper articles? Scanned historical documents? Anything?” Dean asked, stunned. “You couldn’t find _anything_?”

“All the local libraries only keep paper copies or microfilm of older newspapers. One of the historical documents had been photoshopped so many times I can’t tell what the original one really was. Any medical records were claimed as private property of the hotel and no one’s got anything. The rest is all speculation, Dean. That’s all I have.”

Shit. “So, blind,” Dean said faintly. “As per usual. Any sort of myth to put together? You’ve gotta have something, I know you do.”

“Maybe I’m not the super genius you keep thinking I am,” Sam said wearily, and when Dean looked over, he looked small. His eyes stayed on his laptop, the screen only reflecting the resignation on his face. “I mean, I can’t find anything about the Mark. You’re still as stuck as you were before. And the time before that, with the crossroads deal you made for me, I couldn’t get you out of that either.”

“Okay, woah, woah, time out,” Dean declared. Because no way in hell was he going to let that sit for a minute more. “Both of those decisions were made without you, all right? And yeah, they were probably poor decisions, but as far as the first one goes, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You couldn’t find a way out because there wasn’t one, Sam. But there’s gotta be one out of this Mark, and if anyone can find it, it’s you.”

He finally dared to reach out and rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam sagged under the touch and even leaned into it, and Dean tightened his grasp. “I know I said crap while I was…not me,” he managed. It’d been him, but that wasn’t something he could deal with at the moment. And at the end of the day, it wasn’t a part of him he wanted to ever be. Especially not to Sam. “But that’s all it was, all right? I’m telling you right here and right now that there’s no one smarter, no one better for a partner, than you. I’ve got no hope of getting to Laura and finding her without you.”

“You could get Cas—”

“I need you,” Dean said, cutting him off, and Sam fell silent again. “I need you to help me here, Sammy.”

Sam shut his eyes and Dean turned his full attention back to the road. A few stoplights flared bright green in the night, no opposing traffic to stop him, and he kept on going. The road supposedly dead-ended near the park, and the hotel wasn’t far from there. In his head, a timer had started, counting off the time since Laura had disappeared into the hotel. 25 hours and 33 minutes. That was a long time for anyone to survive in a haunted place, but they still needed to try.

“Dr. Mandel was the last main physician at the asylum.”

Dean glanced over at his brother. Sam had his eyes fixed on the laptop, clearly moving over words. “According to the legend, Dr. Mandel was into a great deal of suppressive type therapy, where he worked to suppress the problem instead of treat it. He didn’t keep it to just his patients, but his nurses as well, subjecting them to horrific tests like ice baths and taking ‘health supplements’ that were really mostly cocaine. This is where the myth starts to differ.”

“Atta boy,” Dean murmured, squeezing Sam’s shoulder one more time before returning his hand to the wheel. Sam gave a faint smile and kept going.

“One theory says that his patients rose up and finally killed him, choking him to death with a number of applications: his tie, a noose, medical straps, their bare hands. Some say he was strung up, some say he was hacked into pieces, and so on.”

“Any record of him buried anywhere?”

“The only Dr. Mandel I can find died in 1965, ten years after the asylum closed, and he died of a heart attack. I have to assume it’s the same guy.”

“You said that that was version one: what’s version two?”

The road ended, and through the trees to the left, Dean could make out a metal swing set reflected in his high beams. He made a left turn and moved around the park. No sign of a child waiting for her parents, or anyone, really. No cops, no joggers, no dog walkers, nothing. Apparently the park was done by nightfall despite the numerous lights throughout the park.

Then he glanced to the opposite side of the road and stared. No wonder no one wanted to come anywhere close to the monstrosity that sat there.

“Holy crap,” Sam breathed, and Dean couldn’t blame him. The old brick building was huge, off the road by about half a football field, grass grown high around it. The metal fence surrounding it paled in comparison to the huge three-story building that seemed to extend to the sides by a mile. He was pretty sure it was at least the length of a football field and then some.

There were no lights anywhere near the hotel. Because of course.

When Sam spoke again, his voice was hushed and hesitant. “Version two says his own nurses tried to kill him, set fire to the building and killed everyone inside, including themselves. If even half of that building had occupants in it, Dean…”

They were looking at a host of ghosts. “Shit,” Dean mumbled, running a hand over his face. Somewhere in there was a heap of trouble.

But somewhere in there was a lost child. If Laura was still alive, her only chance of getting out was with them. They were her only hope.

Sam seemed to think the same thing, because he nodded to a spot beyond the hotel along the street next to a few other cars. “Let’s go,” he said, and Dean pulled in.


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

The hotel had been beautiful, once. The asylum had probably been prestigious, if the size was anything to go by. This small a town to host this big a place, it had probably staffed half of the town within its walls until it had finally closed its doors.

Historically speaking, Sam was fascinated. Hunter and Winchester-speaking, Sam was absolutely wary and bordering on terrified.

The last three hotels they’d been in flew through his mind in quick succession. The first hotel, they’d been the sole survivors. The second hotel, the resort in the Carolinas, they’d managed to save one person, and the last hotel they’d taken on a few years ago, they’d gotten two teens out alive. Their record was improving, but only just, and that had been when they’d been healthy and ready to roll. Not a gimp with a bad arm who hadn’t really slept since he’d gotten Dean back.

It had nothing to do with him instantly waking up at the sound of footsteps moving past his door. Or a need to see Dean sleeping soundly, alive and well, in his room. None at all.

They had numerous bags with them, but their years hunting had made things smoother, a little sleeker. They managed to get everything into one bag each and headed to the fence. One part had been cut away by someone, probably teens in search of a thrill, and they ducked inside.

The tall grass made Sam want to check instantly for ticks, but bugs were going to be the least of his problems. Especially with the host of possible ghosts ahead of them.

If Dr. Mandel had actually survived the asylum shutting down, then he wasn’t probably on their list. And who knew why the asylum had actually shut down, because there were only theories there, too. Each one uglier than the last.

“Don’t suppose the health department got involved and whisked everyone away to a safer, better place?” Dean asked as they headed to the main doors. They were massive things, weathered by time, but the knobs were still clearly in place. No boards across the doors or the windows, and honestly, Sam thought that was even worse than if they had been boarded up.

Sam snorted. “It shut down August 9th, 1955. There’s no mention of the patients, the nurses, the doctor. Nothing. Just that one day it was open for business, and the next, it was done. Even in the 1950’s, though, the types of ‘therapies’ that Dr. Mandel was doing were frowned upon.”

The stairs leading up to the doors had crumbled, concrete pieces lying everywhere. Dean made his way up first, then waved Sam up. Only when Sam came up onto the concrete porch – or what remained of it, at any rate – did Dean pull his shotgun out. Sam fumbled with his bag, shuffling through it with one hand until his fingers caught on the familiar cold of the flashlight. He couldn’t hold a gun and a flashlight, but Dean was armed, and Sam had his usual piece in the back of his jeans. That was going to have to do.

Dean didn’t even try the door until Sam had his flashlight on and the bag back up over his good shoulder. Shotgun in hand, the door slowly creaked open under Dean’s touch, and Sam held his breath.

Nothing happened.

Carefully Sam edged his way inside. “Laura?”

Wind blew through the hole in the roof, sending the torn and faded curtains dancing slightly in the air. The floor ahead of them was rotten, and there were evident holes in the wood. A single staircase led up the right side of the room, though Sam had his doubts about how to get up it without falling through or needing a tetanus shot: the iron bars in the railing, once decorative, were orange with rust.

It was silent, too, almost as silent as the bunker had gotten. Dean had been desperate to not talk about anything since…that, but the silence of the bunker was almost suffocating these days. This stillness, this quiet, wasn’t really much better.

Sam pressed himself against the door, only for Dean to catch him by the good arm and tug him away. “I got it,” he said, and Sam just sighed.

“Dean, it’s fine—"

“You hold the door every damn time,” Dean said, glaring at him, “and every time it comes back to bite you in the ass. No more busted shoulders – you’ve already got one – and no more busted knees. I’ll hold it open.”

The image of Dean in front of him, scowling and determined, was so familiar to a million and one other moments just like it that Sam’s lips turned up almost against his will. “Your choice, or should I say, your injury,” he said.

Relief flooded Dean’s eyes even while he fought to keep a neutral face. “Yeah, yeah. Last thing I need is you _more_ injured. Knowing you, you’d do it with the right arm. Which, again—”

“Yeah, I sprained it, all right?” Sam said, and his cheeks went warm. So he’d downplayed the whole thing a little bit for Dean. The demon had taken him by surprise and he’d fallen into his usual stance, the one where Dean backed him up. Except he’d realized too late that it was just down to him; Dean had been playing for the opposition at that point.

The demon had thrown him around, and badly. Getting out alive had been a miracle. His shoulder had been dislocated, enough that the nurses had gone green looking at him, and they’d even been talking about surgery. In the end, they’d reset it and handed over the soft brace and encouraged him to come back for outpatient therapy. Needless to say, he hadn’t been back.

And he would’ve told Dean the minute his brother had clear eyes again, no black anywhere to be seen, but Dean had looked so damn guilty that he’d said it was just a ‘sprained elbow’. Nothing to see here, nothing to feel guilty about. He’d be fine, and he would, ultimately.

It still hurt like hell, but Dean being gone, Dean being dead and a demon, hurt way worse. And Dean thinking about what he’d done with black eyes—

No. Not going there. He’d suffer the shoulder.

Dean had the door wedged as much as he could, so Sam tentatively stepped further into the room. The floor creaked beneath him, a horrific sound that made Sam freeze, but it held. Two huge holes ahead pulled at his curiosity and encouraged him to look straight down.

Blackness met him. Even his flashlight didn’t offer any visual clues for what was below them. “Laura?” he called.

Nothing came from below. Nothing came from above, either.

“There a way to wedge that door more permanently?” Sam asked, turning back towards Dean. Dean had his whole body against the doorframe, and any chance of the door closing would result in his brother’s back taking the brunt of it.

Dean frowned at him. “I don’t know, why?”

“Because I’d rather you be doing this with me,” Sam admitted. “I’m a wing down, dude. I don’t feel safe doing this on my own.”

The honesty clearly threw his brother for a loop, but there was more of that relief, too. Relief that Sam still wanted him there, that Sam wasn’t going to write him off. “Let me see what I can do,” Dean told him and started searching for something on the porch.

Sam turned back to the rest of the hotel while he waited, deliberately putting Dean at his back. It was safe that way. Dean at his back was what he wanted, what he’d been missing. Brothers again after the last few years where they’d been so off. Dean letting Gadreel in, taking the Mark. Dying. Becoming a demon.

They were going to put it all behind them, _needed_ to put it behind them. They’d come through so much already, and they were going to get through this, too. And Sam knew what the weight of guilt felt like, of making a mistake that you desperately needed forgiveness for. Of hoping that it hadn’t been such an error that your brother couldn’t let you back in, wouldn’t let you back in. Dean needed that forgiveness, that, “We’ll let it go and keep moving on,” sort of spirit. He deserved it as much as Sam had, all those years ago when he’d done the demon blood and let Lucifer out. When he’d let his depression and anxiety eat at him enough that he’d let Dean rot in Purgatory.

But he got the other side of it now, too. The side of, “How _could_ you,” and the bone-deep hurt that resonated from his very being. The needing to forgive and being so utterly incapable of it at the same time.

This wasn’t like what he’d done, either. He hadn’t done any of his mistakes on purpose: the demon blood had been his only way to kill Lilith, the release of Lucifer he’d never seen coming, and the year with Dean in Purgatory, he’d honestly thought Dean had been dead and gone.

Dean had known about Gadreel. Dean had known about the Mark. Dean’s demon side had been more than determined to blame him for everything and kill him—

Sam couldn’t think that way, though, not unless he didn’t want to be brothers anymore. He glanced back at Dean who was keeping the majority of himself inside while scrambling to find something to block the door with, and found his lips turning up in fondness. He’d gotten his big brother back. That was all that mattered.

That was all that could matter right now.

A scream suddenly echoed through the building, and Sam dropped the flashlight and reached for his piece. It went louder and louder until it felt like the screamer was right in front of him, and then—

It cut off. The sudden silence ran down his limbs until he shuddered.

“You see anything?” Dean asked tersely. He was back inside, only a single foot in the doorway, shotgun up, but his eyes were all on Sam.

Sam slowly shook his head. “No. Nothing. Just the scream.”

Dean’s flashlight was focused on Sam, but it tilted down, and Sam followed it to his own flashlight, the light catching the floorboards and extending out to the bottom of the nearby wall. “Well that’s not gonna work,” Dean summed up.

No, it wasn’t. Not with an arm down. Sam’s stomach lurched. “Dean, I’m just going to be a liability on this hunt—”

“Hey, listen to me,” Dean said firmly, “I’d rather have you on with a wing down than me doing this by myself. You injured is still infinitely better than no you. Hell, you even kicked my ass when—”

Dean stopped suddenly, as if realizing what he’d been about to say, and Sam found himself hurrying to fill the void. “Yeah, well, you only used a hammer, dude. You weren’t exactly the smartest opponent I’ve ever taken on.”

“Ouch,” Dean said, but he gave a weak grin. “You wound me.”

Sam just rolled his eyes and picked up the flashlight. There was no way he could carry his handgun and his flashlight at the same time. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, biting his lip. “We kind of don’t have time for this.”

A pause. Then, “I got an idea.”

Sam frowned as Dean hurried over. In spite of picking on Sam about his injury, Dean was nothing but gentle as he carefully slid the flashlight inside the arm brace. It fit snugly on the outside of the arm, and Dean moved the arm slowly to ensure it wouldn’t cause pain. It felt awkward, but it wasn’t tugging on the shoulder, and after a moment, Sam gave a nod. With his usual sideways approach, the flashlight would aim wherever he wanted it. “That works,” he said, and Dean gave a pleased grin.

God had he missed his brother.

Another scream went up, a different one that sounded like it was being choked out of whoever was screaming, and this time both of their guns went up. Sam turned himself and the flashlight followed, its beam seeing nothing in the darkness. The scream got louder again, the choking more pronounced, and Sam didn’t want to imagine what could make someone make that sound because he could think of at least three things just from his time in the Cage, and Lucifer stood above him, smirking—

“Hey, hey, easy.”

Sam didn’t realize he was gasping, dragging in desperate amounts of air, until Dean was in front of him, hands carefully resting on his arms to keep him upright. “Easy,” Dean said again, gaze filled with concern. “You okay?”

The scream had stopped again. Not that that was making it any easier for Sam to breathe. “M’okay,” he insisted. Dean didn’t look convinced, so he forced himself to hold the next breath before releasing it over a period of ten seconds. He’d picked up a few tricks over the years, and the breathing one usually helped. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

Slowly Dean stepped back, his eyes still on Sam. “I got four hunters I can call,” he said, his tune suddenly changing when it meant protecting Sam. “They can be here and do this one, they can find Laura. We don’t have to do this, Sam.”

Sam flushed with shame and anger. “I said I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not, and you deserve to not be fine or okay,” Dean shot back. “The past month hasn’t exactly been the world’s greatest, all right? And it’s not like either of us have really talked about it. Never mind the other crap I know you’ve been having nightmares about again. Let’s face it, I’m sure I didn’t help.”

Shit shit _shit_. All stuff Sam wasn’t ready to deal with at that point. “We need to find Laura,” he said in a clipped tone. “That’s what matters.”

“Sam—”

“Hello.”

They turned as one towards the voice. A young girl stood in front of them in a plain, dirty dress. She looked a bit disheveled, hair hanging in front of her face, but she was clearly watching them both with a curious eye that peered out from the curtain of tangles.

But she was there, and Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief. Laura had found them, and they could get her home.

“Thank hell,” Dean muttered. “We’re getting her out of here and then I’m calling someone else to deal with this place.”

Sam glanced back at the still open door and made a face. Two screams and he was done? That wasn’t what they did. They’d tangled with far worse and come out the other side. “We can’t just leave this place.”

“Yes, we can,” Dean said. When Sam went to argue again, Dean shook his head so hard he thought it would make his big brother dizzy. “Neither of us are okay, Sam. Doing a case right now, especially a haunted _hotel_ , is asking for trouble.” He turned back to Laura who still stood before them, watching them with a little frown on her face. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you home.”

She straightened at that and her hair fell away, revealing her full face. Sam stared, lips parting in shock, at the huge swatch of suede leather sewn into the left cheek.

“The actual _hell_ ,” Dean breathed, equally as stunned. She flickered once in front of them before she smiled, the leather crinkling up slightly to make the smile seem even wider and more macabre.

“This is my home,” she said, voice sweet and soft, and then she disappeared. Sam jerked at the sudden departure, eyes darting everywhere. His flashlight wasn’t following his gaze, and he belatedly realized he had to turn to make it move where he wanted it to go.

Dean’s flashlight thankfully took over, shining where Sam wanted to see. His brother pressed against him on his bad side and jarred the shoulder slightly, making him hiss. “Sam,” Dean began, voice full of concern, but it was lost in the sudden high-pitched giggle behind them. They spun as one, flashlights aimed towards the front door.

The little girl stood mere inches in front of them. Even as Sam jerked backwards, even as Dean tugged him away, the little girl shoved her arms forward and straight through them. Something cold and _wrong_ flooded through Sam and he let out a pained gasp as he stumbled backwards. He couldn’t find his feet, they were beneath him and then they weren’t, and he felt the floor hit him in the back. It crumpled beneath him like wet paper, and Sam could only stare in horror as he tumbled into the dark abyss beneath the first floor.


	3. That Way Madness Lies

Sam landed hard, the sudden stop jarring his upper back and straight through his shoulder, and the world whited out. He came back to himself after a moment, ears ringing, the world spinning violently around him.

A hand on his good shoulder was too much, and Sam leaned over to one side and vomited. His shoulder ached, spasming as much as his stomach, and he fought to get some semblance of control back even while his stomach rebelled.

The touch at his shoulder disappeared, but then it returned, resting firmly against his stomach and his forehead, keeping him above his mess. Unlike the hand at his shoulder, this one helped settle him and gave him a moment to breathe. His stomach churned again but then began to relax.

His ears finally let him hear something other than high-pitched ringing, and Dean’s voice was the first thing he heard. “…out, Sammy, let it out. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, kiddo. Just breathe.”

“M’okay,” Sam whispered. His shoulder felt like it was on fire, tightly bound and wrenched fire, but the rest of him would probably live. “Where are we?”

The light glowed around him as Dean turned the flashlight upward. Sam glanced up and saw the small rotted holes had become one big hole. The weight of two grown men hitting hard and fast had done it in.

“Got to the basement faster this time,” Dean mused, almost whimsically, and Sam spared him a glare.

“I could do without a basement.”

“Yeah, well, not happening this time. Little miss sunshine made sure of that, which, by the way, what the actual _fuck_?”

It wasn’t something Sam wanted to think about either. The huge leather strap sewn into her face made his own skin crawl. “Maybe an injury, a bad burn,” Sam offered. “Leather might’ve been the only skin grafting material on hand.”

“It’s Frankenstein, Sam. Dr. Mandel was clearly experimenting in more ways than one on his patients.”

“It could’ve been someone else’s flesh instead of rawhide,” Sam pointed out, and Dean’s lips snapped shut.

The light from the flashlight, still shining above, gave Sam a broader vision of what was around them, including the musty stone walls that were black from dust, grime, and probably mold. A metal shelf stood in the corner, mostly dismantled, and Sam was inherently grateful that they hadn’t landed over there. They could’ve easily been impaled.

His eyes went up again after a second thought. “Our bags?” His shoulder was definitely empty.

“Yours ripped pretty bad on a piece of shelving,” Dean said. “Mine’s okay. Bet I can get most everything into the one— ah, shit.”

Sam glanced over and saw the remains of the bag he’d been carrying. It looked covered and filled with snow, and he pursed his lips when Dean held up the remains of the salt container. Completely empty, completely useless. “Well, the back of the room here is safe,” Sam mused, sighing in resignation. Because of course. “Do you have salt in your bag?”

Dean winced. “I put it all in the shotgun shells. So I’ve got a lot of those but no loose salt. I should’ve—”

“No, it was a good call,” Sam hurried to tell him. “Salt is salt, and if we have to, we can split a few shells open. We’re always short, though. Shells were a good call.”

Dean nodded but didn’t look as certain now. If there was anything that screamed that this was his brother, not a demon, it was the almost lost look on Dean's face as he tried to make the best out of the situation. Sam shifted and felt pain resonate up through his shoulder. His eyes crossed and he slid back down to lying flat on the ground. Oh god, that was bad.

Dean immediately moved back to Sam. His face was creased with obvious worry; definitely Dean, not a demon. “Mixed blessing, maybe: not sure you should be carrying anything right now, anyway.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Sam said, sounding a little breathless, and he took some deeper breaths to avoid the nausea that threatened to come back up. "Can you fit anything in your bag?"

"Yeah, I'll move over what's super important. Just sit tight, all right?"

That, Sam could do. He looked around again as Dean crouched and started rearranging the two bags into one. The lights looked like they wouldn't turn on, which meant they were down to flashlights. What was more interesting, however, was there, next to the shelves, and he nodded towards the single door on the opposite side of the room. "Dean, over there."

“Better than going up,” Dean agreed. He began to rise, then stopped, glancing down at Sam.

Sam shook his head, already knowing what was coming. “No, go, check it out. I’m going to drag you down even more than before.” The shoulder still sent streaks of pain so violent through his body that he just wanted to pass out. Not an option with a crazy little girl ghost and the two separate screams they’d already heard.

Dean headed for the door, but with extreme reluctance. Sam focused on sitting up and not throwing up again. By the time Dean had managed to get the rusty knob to turn, Sam was almost ready to stand. Almost.

The door swung open with a loud creak, hitting the wall with a bang that made them both wince. “Well, if anyone wanted to know where we were, ta-da,” Dean said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How’s the arm?” Then he stopped, stared at Sam, and cringed.

Sam frowned. “What?”

In response, Dean came over and carefully reached for the sling. Sam tensed instinctively, hating himself for it and insisting it was because his arm hurt that much, not because he didn’t trust Dean because he did. He _did_.

It was even worse when Dean hesitated for a moment, clearly catching the tension, before moving forward anyway. The shame was enough to burn through Sam’s gut and make him want to be sick again.

Something heavy and hard slid against Sam’s arm. He gasped in fresh pain as Dean pulled the flashlight out. No wonder his arm had hurt so badly. “Yeah, so, you probably broke something,” Dean said casually. “In your arm, I mean. Flashlight still works.” He turned it on and off for effect.

Well, his arm was already busted. “Put it back in,” Sam said with a sigh. “We’re gonna need all the light we can get. Where’s your shotgun?”

Dean stared at him like he had three heads. “You’re not putting the flashlight back in there, Sam.”

“Where’s the shotgun—”

“I have it, I have both guns, but Sam, listen to me. If you have any hope of being able to use that arm again, you need to not put the flashlight back in there.”

“We don’t really have a choice here, Dean! We need to find Laura!”

Another scream, this one from right behind them, made them both spin around. Sam regretted the action as soon as he did it, but he managed to not fall back over. Points.

This time, there was a visual. A young woman in a nurse’s uniform stood right in front of them, hands clawing at her neck, eyes wide and bulging in fear. Her screams kept getting cut off with her air, and then suddenly—

She was gone.

Silence fell. Sam swallowed hard and tried to get his pulse under control. Guess the theory about nurses dying was true.

“Did you see anything around her neck?” Dean asked tersely.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Awesome.”

A hand caught him beneath his elbow and brought him to standing in one swift pull. The world spun a little, but his stomach stayed where it was. His arm had gone comfortably numb, and that would have to do.

“Time to find a kid, get her home, and get out of here,” Dean told him. He handed over Sam’s gun. “You got this, Sammy.”

Sam caught hold of Dean before his brother could take off. “ _We_ got this. Don’t make me do this alone.” Always the worst part of any nightmare: alone, in some fashion or another, either forced to be an orphan through Dean’s death, abandoned by Dean’s dismissal, or trapped with Lucifer and no Dean in sight. Even dying by Dean’s hand was better, in some ways. And infinitely worse in others, but he wasn’t going there at the moment.

Dean swallowed hard. “Not going anywhere if you don’t want me to.” The desperation on his face physically hurt to look at.

It was enough to force Sam to put his foot in front of the other. Right, left, right, left. “Then we’ll find Laura and get the hell out of here.”

One flashlight out the door scanned both directions. The hallway extended for a long while in both directions. “Pick one,” Dean said.

Sam thought back to the blueprints he’d gone over online. They’d been of the hotel, but the hotel couldn’t be too different structurally than the asylum. “There’s stairwells at both ends, but…there’s one closer on the left, I think, because there was a stairway from the kitchen down here.”

“Left it is.”

Dean led, and Sam gingerly wrapped his good hand around the trigger and followed after.

On a scale of 1 to 10 as to what Dean had expected in terms of a shitshow, this hit about, oh, a 33. No kid, a not so friendly number of ghosts, screams everywhere, and Sam already injured even though Dean had taken the stupid front door.

Oh, and they were already in the basement. Because why not.

His eyes shifted right to where Sam was walking beside him, his footsteps steady and even. The kid’s face, however, was pinched tight with pain, and he was carefully keeping his right arm tucked gingerly against him. That alone was telling of just how much pain Sam was in.

That and the hurling. Dean couldn’t easily remember the last time the pain had been bad enough to illicit a bodily response like that. He’d landed bad, yeah, but even if he’d broken a bone, which Dean wasn’t sure he had, it shouldn’t have been like that.

Unless it wasn’t just a sprained elbow, like Sam had said.

He didn’t want to think about the fact that Sam was clearly lying to him, because he knew why. This had nothing to do with demon blood and everything to do with trying to protect Dean. Because Dean hadn’t been there and Sam had gotten badly hurt, worse than a sprained elbow. A sprained elbow didn’t require a hefty sling, and it sure as hell didn’t make you vomit.

And they weren’t even going to look into the way Sam had frozen upstairs, going pale and suddenly hyperventilating, eyes seeing something else. He hadn’t said what it was but it’d clearly been a flashback. And Dean remembered enough about Hell to take three guesses and come back with something nasty. Something that made him want to shoot Lucifer a time or thirty-five.

The hall was dark and damp and everywhere Dean didn’t want to be. He shifted the bag back up over his shoulder, holding on to it with grim determination. His footsteps made quiet echoes against the walls, but the worst part was the complete absence of light. He found a light switch and tried it, just for the hell of it, but it didn’t work. “Figures,” he muttered.

The hall didn’t end, either. It seemed to keep going, a cavernous tunnel of cement with a handful of doors here and there. Most of them were locked and unless Sam told him otherwise, Dean was content to leave them that way. The less bruised he was, the better he’d be later. Experience had told him it was going to be a long night.

How the hell had they wound up doing _another_ hotel?

Footsteps went out of sync and Dean immediately caught Sam as he stumbled over a broken piece of concrete. “You all right?” Dean asked, his voice floating around them.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam insisted. His face still didn’t have hardly any color in it. “This is…longer than I’d thought. I figured we’d be there by now, but we still haven’t hit the end.”

Warily Dean turned and looked around. The hall was still empty and quiet, with very little in terms of debris. He had a feeling most of the rooms behind the doors were probably much the same way. “So this wasn’t in the blueprints,” Dean said.

Something shifted behind them. Dean whirled around, shotgun up, but his flashlight couldn’t find anything. Beyond the light of his flashlight beam, the darkness could’ve hidden anything.

“Maybe a rat,” Sam offered tightly. He hadn’t moved his direction, his flashlight still aimed straight ahead. His good hand stayed tight on the gun. They stood, side by side, practically back to back.

The darkness felt like it loomed and Dean almost wanted to fire a shot on principle, see what shook out. It wasn’t worth wasting ammo over, though. Still, the quiet that kept being broken by screams was enough to make him want to start firing just to make the darkness hurt.

The Mark pulsed on his arm and he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t hurt the _dark_. That wasn’t how it worked, and he almost felt like slapping his arm. Almost. But then Sam would give him that face and his little brother was battered enough as it was. It was clear that Sam hadn’t meant to flinch when Dean had reached for him, but he had and Dean couldn’t forget it.

Something rustled ahead of Dean. He lifted his shotgun and waited, flashlight still not picking up anything. “Come on,” Dean growled. “Come out already.” He moved the flashlight towards the left, then followed it back to the right again.

The little girl from the entry appeared in his beam, watching him. Dean managed to keep his shotgun held tight, but she didn’t move, simply tilted her head. “What’s your deal?” he asked her, and Sam inhaled sharply. Guess he’d seen her. “What the hell did you do to me and my brother?”

She winked out a second later, which, honestly, was ten times worse than if she’d stuck around. “You see her?” Dean asked.

“…No,” Sam finally said. “She’s gone.”

Something cold brushed across Dean’s skin, making him shiver, and his next breath out was a small misty cloud. He glanced around with the flashlight again, but the little girl wasn’t there. She was gone. Then what—?

He spun around too late. Something hit him hard in the side, sending him flying into the concrete wall. and then there were hands tight around his neck. The flashlight rolled on the ground next to him, highlighting dark hair, a wild-looking beard, and very large hands that even now were cutting off every breath Dean could take. He struggled to get the shotgun, get the bag that had flown off his shoulder, get _anything_ , but the spirit held firm on top of him and refused to let him up. Spots danced in his vision as he clawed for air.

“Hey! _Hey_!”

The spirit of the man immediately pulled off of Dean, leaving him choking and gasping for air. Then he found his breath stolen again but for a whole different reason when he heard Sam cry out in pain. He fumbled for the flashlight, for the shotgun, and screw the bag because he needed to get up, needed—

Needed to stop the spirit from choking Sam with what looked like a wide belt.

Dean hadn’t been able to throw him off with two hands; Sam had no chance with just one. Standing behind Sam, the spirit had both ends of the belt in his hands, leaving Sam scrambling to break free. The spirit seemed to grow in size until he practically took up the entire hallway, and Dean stared in horror as Sam’s feet actually lifted off the ground. Sam’s eyes found his, desperation in them fading out as he lost air. His eyes began to flutter shut, his body going limp.

Dean finally managed to get a grip enough on the shotgun to make it count, and he rammed the handle of the gun against his hip and fired. It went wide of Sam and didn’t quite hit the spirit fully, but it did the trick, enough for the spirit to flicker and for him to lose his grip on Sam. Sam’s body fell forward, knees cracking against the floor as he tumbled the rest of the way down. The spirit snarled, reappeared fully, and lunged for Sam again.

“Not happening,” Dean snapped, and he fired again. This time, the entire shot hit the spirit center mass, and the guy disappeared with an angry scream. It echoed in the hallway around them long after the spirit had vanished.

None of which Dean cared about since Sam stayed on the ground, not moving.

Dean fumbled to his feet and raced over to Sam. “Sam,” he called. “Sammy!”

He got a groan for his efforts, and the relief that flew through him was enough to almost make him pass out. “Easy,” Dean murmured. “Just take it easy.”

Slowly he got Sam upright. He was sure the fall hadn’t done the shoulder any good, but Sam didn’t look like he was going to be sick. Dean finally got a good look at Sam and winced.

Looked like the spirit had roughed Sam up pretty bad first; there was a massive bruise on Sam’s left cheek with a few bloody markings. Must’ve hit the wall. His neck was red and bound to be swollen, but it was the little dots that stayed behind, a macabre souvenir from the belt loops, that made Dean feel like shooting things again.

Sam’s eyes slowly opened. “There he is,” Dean said as warmly as he could. “C’mon, kiddo, wake up. I need you.”

It never failed to humble him just how much those three words could get Sam moving. By all accounts, Sam should’ve stayed passed out, but he was up and focusing on Dean as best he could just because Dean had asked.

God he loved the kid.

“Can you stand?” Dean asked quietly.

“Haf’ta,” Sam managed. “Gotta, gotta keep movin’.” He stayed where he was, leaning against Dean.

This sucked some serious ass. “We gotta find Laura,” Dean told him. “And I’d rather not be here when Mr. Friendly comes back.” At least the little girl hadn’t tried to choke them out yet. This one hadn’t so much as waited before he’d attacked.

“Doc’r.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“Doc-tor,” Sam enunciated as best he could, before he began to cough. The body’s desperate bid for air after being strangled led to the most painful coughs ever. Dean could feel the answering tickle in his own throat, and he gamely tried to push it down and away. “Had coat. Whi’ coat.”

Now that Dean thought back, the spirit _had_ been wearing a white lab coat. “Awesome,” Dean muttered, his voice like gravel. It felt like it, too. He hadn’t been able to raise his gun up to defend them or anything. There’d been no time. “You think that’s Dr. Mandel? Maybe a different one than the one you found, that he died here after all?”

Sam gave a one-shoulder shrug. Dean sighed reluctantly. “C’mon, let’s see if we can’t find that exit. Or Laura.”

He managed to get Sam to his feet and cautiously looked down both hallways. More doors that were bound to be locked, more concrete blocks and other debris, but that was it. No exit, nothing anywhere close.

Something suddenly closed around his hand and Dean whirled to the side, shotgun coming up the instant he saw the younger form of the girl ghost hanging on to him.


	4. Look Like the Innocent Flower, But Be the Serpent Under’t

“Dean, no,” Sam said frantically, then bent over double in a cough. “S’not the ghost.”

Even though the kid had retreated, it was clear that this girl was breathing and living. “Laura?” Dean said incredulously. “Holy _shit_.”

She was filthy, long brown hair matted to hell and back, clothes filthy and some of it torn. The only thing that wasn’t destroyed was the little leather purse that hung across her. She had a scratch on her forehead that probably needed to be cleaned out in the world’s worst way.

But she was _there_ and she was alive and somehow, she’d found them.

She glanced up at them, surprised. “You know my name?” she whispered. “How do you know my name?”

“Your parents sent us,” Dean told her. He tried to clear his throat from the choking incident and it didn’t help the pain that had settled in. “They wanted us to come get you because we’re, ah, ghost hunters. The best in the business.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, like, the Ghostfacers? Do you know them?”

“What, those two…idiots?” Dean said, managing to refrain from more colorful language. At least for now – he couldn’t guarantee for later. Hotels seemed to bring out the worst in him. “Yeah, we know them.” Unfortunately. Regrettably. He moved on, still supporting Sam. “Are you hurt?”

“How are you even still alive?” Sam managed to ask. He sounded proud which, yeah, Dean got that. The kid had managed something not a lot of people could do.

Laura reached out and took his hand again. “I’ll show you, c’mon.”

She tugged him back the way they’d come towards one of the doors, then pushed it open. The room inside was a mess of shelves and old equipment gathering dust, more concrete walls, and some doors leading to the sides of the room. But it was cool and quiet and had a handful of corners that were defensible. Especially with one very large coffin-looking thing sitting right in front of a corner.

“Iron lung,” Sam said knowingly. He ran his hand over it and looked surprised. “I didn’t realize some of them were actually made out of iron. It was just a phrase some journalist came up with.”

He was talking better now, that was for sure. His voice still sounded like it’d been shredded, though. Dean made sure he could stand on his own before carefully letting go.

“I hid behind it,” Laura explained. “They came through the room but they didn’t come near me.”

If it was seriously made out of iron, then that explained a lot. “They?” Dean asked.

Laura brushed her snarled hair behind her to better clear her face. “Lots of ghosts,” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “There was a little girl, about my age, but she didn’t come near me. Lots of people that looked like nurses. Lots of people who were just…random people. They floated through but they left me alone.”

“How many?” Dean asked. “Do you remember?”

Laura made a face. “Um, maybe a dozen?”

A dozen ghosts. “God _dammit_ ,” Dean cursed. Whatever. He wasn’t going to keep a clean mouth around her; he’d do the best he could but getting her out alive so she could bitch to her parents about his cursing was the better option.

“You really came to rescue me?” Laura said, eyes full of awe and relief. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, we did. Laura, why did you come in here to begin with?” Sam asked, and that was a good question.

Her eyes darted around a bit wildly, like she wasn’t sure they were safe. To be fair, Dean wasn’t sure either, and his eyes drifted to the door behind them.

Nothing but silence. The door to the side was equally silent.

“I saw her.”

Dean turned back. Laura had her arms wrapped around herself in a way that Dean had seen a million times over: a way to comfort when there was no other comfort to find. She was _eight_ , not even double digits, had barely started school.

He still remembered Sam at eight, ignorant as to what was really out there for just a little bit more.

“Her?” Sam prompted when Laura shivered.

“The other girl,” Laura finally continued. “She was standing in the doorway, and she looked scared. She was trying to get out, I thought, and she was reaching for me. Dad and Mom have always taught me to help if someone needs help, and she looked like she needed help. So I ran under the fence and got in.” She paused and looked down at her feet. “But the door went bang behind me and it was locked.”

Sam raised both eyebrows in surprise, then winced when it pulled on his bruised face. Dean was very cognizant of the fact that he had a tiny kid who was tired and scared out of her wits, and a not-so-tiny kid who was injured, probably worse than Dean had originally thought. That meant he didn’t particularly care about a ghost that was apparently luring in victims by playing the victim herself.

Who knew how many she’d brought in by looking like a kid in need of help?

A rumbling filled the air, making Dean tense, but then Laura wrapped her arms around her middle, her face red. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Now that sort of monster, Dean could deal with immediately. He dug into the bag and pulled out the food Diane had given them. “It’s all we’ve got,” he said, almost apologetically. “But we’ll get you some more food after we get out of here.”

The sandwich wasn’t much, but Laura gobbled it fast; poor kid had to have been starving. “Pizza sounds really good,” she said in between bites. “Can I have pizza?”

A girl after his own heart. “Yeah, we’ll do pizza,” Dean promised. “Your mom put a chocolate bar in here, too.”

Laura froze and swallowed down the last bite of her sandwich. “My mom’s not in here too, is she?”

“She’s safe,” Sam said, knowing immediately what she was asking. “Your mom and dad are outside waiting for us.”

“I don’t want them to come in here,” Laura whispered. “This isn’t fun. I always thought haunted houses were fun, my cousins do them all the time, but this is bad.”

Yeah. Dean could relate. “Have you seen a ghost in a white coat?” he asked.

Laura frowned. “Like my dad wears? He’s a doctor at the hospital.”

“Just like that.”

Another scream went off somewhere down the hallway, echoing back into the room, and Laura’s hands immediately went to her ears. Sam’s good arm held his gun, but Dean was pretty sure his shot wasn’t going to be any better than it had been during the Trials. Not after nearly getting asphyxiated by a ghost with a massive belt.

The scream suddenly cut out, just as suddenly as it had started. It didn’t make Dean feel much better.

“…No,” Laura finally said. “I haven’t seen him. Just the others. And the girl. There were a lot more upstairs.”

It occurred to Dean then that Laura had probably done some exploring. “How many other rooms have you been in?” Sam asked, apparently having the same thoughts.

“I went upstairs, but that was kind of…yucky,” Laura settled on. “Lots of dark splotches on the walls and floors. I saw the girl up there a lot. She has something on her face,” she added. “Mom says it’s not nice to talk about how someone looks but—”

“Yeah, no, whatever’s going on with her isn’t right all over the place,” Dean told her. “You’re good.” At least the murderous ghost hadn’t come hunting for Laura. Just the girl, who hadn’t seemed to do Laura any harm.

Sam made his way to the side door and gently pushed it open, gun at the ready. Each step he took seemed to be a bit stronger, and Dean hoped he’d be all right to keep going without Dean having to carry him. When Sam’s stance relaxed, Dean felt his own shoulders come down. “Empty,” Sam confirmed. “Looks like another storage room. I see another door that looks like it goes back the way we came. That’s probably as good a direction as any.” He turned back and then froze, eyes widening in horror.

Dean spun around. A woman stood before them, dark hair covering her face and hanging in filthy tendrils around her. Her black dress was just as long and ruined, making her papery white skin all the more ghoulish.

Even as Dean stared, her head lifted and her eyes, dark and fathomless, burned through him. And there on her cheek was…a strip of leather?

Then she raised her hands, and blood dripped from her fingertips.

Laura screamed, turned, and ran past Sam. “Laura, wait!” Sam shouted, and Dean pulled his shotgun up. Before he could pull the trigger, however, the woman winked out, but not before changing into the girl again.

How the hell could she be a grown woman and a girl?

“What the hell?” Sam asked. Dean stole a glance and found Sam in the doorway, his good arm around Laura. Sam’s eyes were wide. “Did she just _change_?”

“She, she did that before,” Laura whispered. “She turned into a clown. I _hate_ clowns.”

Sam gave a full body shudder. “A _clown_?” Dean asked incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Laura said. Dean gave her a look. “My dad says it all the time. Mom doesn’t think it’s funny.”

A clown, a woman, and a girl. “What the _hell_?” Dean echoed. “Since when do ghosts change?”

“They don’t,” Sam said, still looking pale. “So why—” 

The lights suddenly came on, broken bulbs impossibly working again. Laura screamed and Dean spun around to where bloody fingers were inches away from his face. “Dean!” Sam shouted but she was too close, and her hand struck out. Dean managed to stumble away but hissed as her fingertips caught his cheek. His flailing left him unable to keep his balance and he hit the floor hard against something that sent pain flaring through his lower back and right hip. His fingers desperately tried to get a grip on the gun and the trigger while his legs tried to get him standing, he needed to stand, he needed to get _up_. The dark-haired woman loomed, following after him.

A shot rang out, enough to catch the ghost’s attention and drag her gaze from Dean to Sam. “No!” Laura shouted, eyes wide in terror, and she flew out of Sam’s grasp.

“Laura, wait!” Sam called, backing up as the ghost moved his way. “Dean, let’s go!” His flashlight in his sling swung around wildly as he moved, and it lit across the ghost’s face, highlighting the strip of leather.

Her eyes shone and flared in the gleam of his flashlight.

Dean stared. “Dean, _come on_!” Sam shouted, and Dean managed to find his feet. She was going to morph again and he knew why now, he’d figured it out—

He almost ran into Sam as they raced into the next room. “Hurry!” Laura screamed, standing and shaking by the next door. “ _Hurry_!”

The giggling behind him made him want to point his gun and keep firing. He pushed his legs that felt like lead and forced his feet to move, one after the other, trudging through the air like he was moving through mud. His back ached and he just couldn’t get himself to move.

A hand caught him by the front of the jacket and hauled him in, and he flailed until he realized it was Sam. Sam, who’d left Laura standing alone up ahead, frightened and shaking, to come back for him.

“She’s fine,” Sam said shortly, and oh, guess he was sharing thoughts out loud. “And I’ll always come back for you. _Always_.”

Somehow Sam’s dragging him gave him the strength he needed to push on through the room. Or maybe it was more the fact that Sam was closer to the psychotic little ghost and that put him in the line of fire. Either way, Dean caught hold of Sam’s coat and dragged him too, and they took off together for the doorway Laura stood in.

Laura’s eyes darted past them and widened impossibly further, but she didn’t run, just waited for them, and Dean had never felt so proud of a kid that wasn’t his before. “There’s another door,” she whispered, pointing to the other side of the next room. “We can make it if we hurry!”

The lights flickered and then went out completely before coming back on, and even as they took off for the other door, Dean couldn’t help but glance back. The long row of rooms was empty until the lights flickered, off and then on, and then suddenly she was there, impossibly close, and dragging her feet behind her. She was taller now, tall and ridiculously thin, impossibly thin, and her hands were dripping something dark and thick. Her hair was long and scraggly, missing in a few places, and Dean had the sudden, crazy thought of déjà vu. Somehow, he knew her.

Laura screamed and he flipped around, but she was no longer standing bravely waiting for them. Her eyes were locked on the ghost and there was pure terror in her eyes. “Laura,” Sam shouted, but she didn’t budge.

Dean forced the pain in his legs to take a backseat and hurried forward, already shoving his shotgun into the bag over his shoulder. He caught her around the waist and hoisted her up, then took off to the door. “Sammy!” he yelled, but Sam was already there, throwing the door open and taking off down the hall.

The lights kept flickering. It was almost worse when it went pitch black, the flashlight their only way through, because she could be _anywhere_. She wasn’t giggling anymore, but there was a raspy sound, like someone pulling in ragged breaths. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he spun around, flashlight the only thing in his hands besides the frightened child.

The beam pierced the black but found nothing. The lights flickered and showed an empty room.

“I got another door,” Sam called, and it sounded like he was grunting. Dean glanced over his shoulder and found his brother desperately twisting the knob and putting his good shoulder into the door. It jerked and opened a crack, enough that Sam did it again. Jammed with something on the other side.

Dean turned back around, keeping his back to Sam, just as the lights flickered again. When the lights came on again she was there in an instant, still the horrible specter she’d been before, and her arms were long enough now to leave a dark trail on the ground. Her face was mottled and pale, and her black eyes were locked on him.

Shit shit _shit_. “Laura, go,” he ordered, setting her down, and he pulled his piece out. The ghost raised her arms towards him—

No, not him, _Laura_ , and Laura was back with Sam at least, where the door was mostly open. “Laura, get through!” he shouted, and Laura squeezed herself through the door like a tiny little mouse. With one last heave Sam slammed the entire door open to where Laura was already racing into another empty room for yet another door.

“Where the hell are we going?” Sam yelled desperately.

“You looked at the blueprints, you tell me!” It wasn’t like he could do anything about it with the ghost coming at them. He took off to join Sam in the other room. More papers, more cardboard boxes, more trash that was as filthy as the rest of the place.

Shuddered exhale. Raspy inhale. She kept coming.

“The basement was never listed! I was working off of the main floors!”

Of course it wasn’t. “Then just _go_!” he shouted, and Sam took off after Laura. The next door opened easily at least and they went through to another room, long and deep with another door at the end.

It wasn’t ending. There was no way the building was this big, and yet they kept going. Was she distorting it somehow? Keeping them trapped in a maze?

The lights flickered again, and Dean saw Laura throw her hands over her face. “Tell me there’s an end!” Dean yelled to Sam, who’d opened the next door and was standing and staring up ahead. “Sam!”

“There’s an elevator,” Sam said faintly. “The lights, they’re on. Dean, I think it’s _working_.”

What? No, he didn’t have time for that, it was time to get out of there. “Then go!” he shouted, and Sam took off. Dean got through the door, Laura barely ahead of him, and they ran for the elevator.

The doors stayed open as they all but fell inside, and Dean finally turned around. The room was lit and empty, and then the lights went out. When they came back on, she was there, fingers stretched out towards them. The lights went out and when they flickered back on, she was gone once more.

Sam was desperately punching all of the buttons but nothing was happening. “Sam,” Dean called, and Sam kept pressing.

“They’re not working. None of them are working.”

The lights went out again and when they came back on, she was even closer than before. Sam glanced back at the approaching figure and pushed Laura behind him. “Stay back there,” he ordered, then pulled his piece back out to stand next to Dean. No hesitation, just ready to take on whatever with Dean.

The woman drifted closer, hair hanging in front of her, black eyes piercing through them, and Dean tightened his grip on the shotgun. Just another second more. Just one more second—

A chime made him jump, and then slowly, slowly, the doors began to close.

The ghost moved quicker as if sensing she would lose them, and Laura shrieked and spun around towards the back of the elevator.

The spirit suddenly stumbled backwards, the little girl there in an instant, her eyes wide with fear before she disappeared with a wail. The doors closed without any sound and slowly, slowly, the elevator moved them up.


	5. A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity

Sam didn’t realize he was gulping in huge breaths until he started to feel lightheaded. The elevator continued moving them up until it dinged again. He lifted his gun at the same time Dean did and waited for the doors to open.

The hallway in front of them looked empty. Dean carefully stepped out first and looked around, then nodded. “Clear. C’mon out.”

Laura wasted no time, but Sam was a little slower. The adrenaline come-down was always a bitch, and Sam was sort of not looking forward to it. As it was, he was already starting to shake and his chest felt like someone had stepped on it. His shoulder was going to start hurting even worse now. Just a matter of time.

Speaking of hurt. “You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean turned to him and there were four scratches in the side of his face, deep enough that blood trailed out of each one. “I can walk,” Dean said.

Sam blinked. That…hadn’t been what he’d thought of. “No, your face,” Sam said. “What do you mean, you can walk?”

Dean grimaced like he hadn’t meant to let that out, then winced as it tugged on his cheek. “I landed on something. My legs hurt but they’re not too bad. I’m all right.”

“Can we get away from her?” Laura asked anxiously. “She’s never been that before. I don’t like it.”

The elevator doors slowly shut behind them. Sam immediately pulled his piece out, his arm throbbing against him. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out. For a few long moments, Sam stood, gun aimed and ready to go.

The elevator didn’t come back on. The lights around them remained off. Slowly Sam lowered the gun.

“C’mon,” Dean said again. “Let’s see if we can’t figure out where the hell we’re supposed to go. The front door’s out, so we need somewhere else to exit. Are there other doors?”

There was something almost awe-inspiring about Dean’s faith in Sam always having the answer. He just wished it were true, but there was a tattoo on Dean’s arm that spoke very differently about that. “I don’t remember,” Sam said quietly. “I…Dean, I looked at those blueprints for a handful of minutes. I didn’t memorize them. I’d need a map.”

“I know where there’s a map.”

Laura had her hand raised as if she were in class. Sam’s lips turned up, even while his heart ached. She didn’t belong in this place. “You’ve seen one?”

“Yeah, in the room with all the stuff on the walls. It sort of looked like a museum.”

“Any chance it’s on this floor?” Dean asked.

Laura gave a grin. “It’s the room with the big doors right down the hall.”

Well, that made things easier, in a sense. “Where _are_ we?” Sam asked, feeling a little ridiculous for asking. “Is this the main floor?”

“Second floor,” Dean said, and he nodded further down the hallway. There indeed was an opening at least a block down, and the railing looked familiar. Front doors and entryway. For as far left as they’d gone from the front door, she’d chased them back a really long way.

That was really what she’d effectively done: chase them. Except for slashing Dean’s face up, she hadn’t done anything more than scare them into running. Sam wasn’t eager to consider what she might’ve done if she _had_ caught up to any of them.

They moved slowly down the hall. There weren’t a lot of noises, just their feet echoing against the wooden floors. There were a handful of doors but most of them were off their hinges, revealing rotten carpet and old furniture. An old billiards table sat in the middle of one room, and Sam saw Dean shiver. Like they needed a reminder of another psychotic person now. That hotel had been…nasty.

“You don’t think she’ll show up again, do you?” Laura asked, her voice barely over a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, sort of hating himself for not being able to give her a better answer. “She probably will. We’ll keep you safe.”

“She looks just like the Vile One from that game my cousins play,” Laura said. “I had nightmares for weeks after watching them play.”

Dean snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s where I’ve seen her. _Only One Left,_ right? That game is creepy, man.”

Sam blinked. “You’ve…played it?”

“Dude, we do have a game system or three,” Dean pointed out. “You should try it.”

Laura shivered. “I had really bad nightmares after that. My mom yelled at my cousins for letting me watch them play it.”

Sam paused. Something about what she’d said made him wonder. “She looks _exactly_ like this character?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean said. “Down to the long bloody fingers. I didn’t recognize her because I was sort of running for my life.”

Sam turned to Laura. “Have you ever had bad dreams about clowns?”

Laura’s eyes went wide. “All the time. They’re really scary. She looked just like them.”

It wasn’t like she was wrong – clowns were the absolute worst – but it was definitely not a coincidence anymore. “Did she touch you? Sort of, put her hand through your ribs?”

There was a pause as Laura came to a full stop. “She totally did. How did you know that?”

“So she’s what, shifting into nightmares?” Dean asked.

Sam frowned. “Shifting?”

“Her eyes,” Dean said. “When the flashlight caught them. They flared.”

Sam stilled. A shifter ghost? Were those even possible? Okay, sure, they had to be possible, but Sam couldn’t remember ever having come up against one. Or reading anywhere about one. It was fascinating, to think that the shifting capabilities had continued into the afterlife. The researcher part of him wanted to know more. The hunter part of him wanted to take care of it.

The Sam part of him wanted to just sit down and not have to deal with any of this. The random screams kept putting him back somewhere else he didn’t want to be, and the black eyes from the girl had been…

Well. He’d wanted to look at Dean’s eyes, and he hadn’t all at the same time. He just wanted them to be back to normal and wished he could just let it _go_.

“Is that why she ran away?” Laura asked. “Because you stopped her? And how many guns do you have, anyway?”

Sam shook his head of his thoughts. Not the time. “Not too many,” Dean told her. “There’s a few other things in the bag here, too. Gasoline, matches. Lots of ammo.” And an exorcism kit that would clear a space of ghosts, but it took time to set up. Still, it’d been worth bringing with them.

It wasn’t likely to have scared their ghost off, though. “I don’t think we did anything. She just took off.” He wished their guns had had anything to do with it, but she’d fled ong after their guns had shown up.

“I didn’t move,” Dean agreed. “She freaked out as soon as Laura turned around.”

As one they looked at her. Laura stared back. “Um…what?”

“She took off after you turned your back on her,” Dean explained. “Can you turn around now?”

The look they got suggested Laura thought they were a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but she slowly did so. Her hair looked even more tangled from behind, but it was nothing except her coat, her clothes…

And her little purse, resting behind her.

Sam moved towards her and held out his hand. “Can I see the purse?”

She immediately pulled it off and gave it to him. It wasn’t anything, really, just the typical purse that someone might buy at one of those stores aimed at girls. It wasn’t even covered in glitter or rhinestones. No real embellishments beyond a tassel key chain: it was a plain purse with beige pleather.

And Sam knew in an instant why it had scared the spirit off.

“Silver?”

He glanced over at Dean who was peering at it with a frown. “Cross? Bangle? Something with silver on it, right?” Dean continued. “She’s a shifter.”

“She _was_ a shifter,” Sam reminded him. “Nothing silver. Just leather. Or a leather look-alike, but close enough.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “Talk me through it here, I don’t get it.”

It made Sam hurt for the young girl and her likely story. Even though she was probably currently trying to kill them, it still made his chest tighten. “She could shift into anyone, anything. So how do you keep someone who can shift into one of, say, the doctors or nurses, from getting out?”

“Tag her to identify her at all times,” Dean said immediately. “Bracelet, anklet—“

“All easy to hide under the right clothes,” Sam said quietly. “They’d need something that couldn’t be hidden.” He held up the purse again.

Dean’s face shifted from confused to horrified. “They did that on _purpose_?”

“I figured it was an injury,” Sam admitted. “But if this is what made her freak out, then…yeah.”

Even as a ghost, the leather on her face remained through every shifting. The one constant that made her stand out.

Dean began to speak, then glanced at Laura. He swallowed back whatever he’d been about to say and Sam realized if they wanted the eight-year-old to get out of this as unscathed as possible, they needed to watch what they said and how they said it. Starting with, say, body modifications forced on another child.

It made him want to be sick.

“She’s…self-conscious about the leather on her face?” Laura said, hazarding her guess. “I mean, I would be, too. They didn’t do skin replacements very often then, right?”

“No, not really,” Sam said, eagerly grabbing on to the thought and letting her run with it. He handed her the purse back. “Keep that on you, all right? That’s a good way to stay safe if it makes her take off.”

Laura nodded emphatically and clutched the purse to her. Dean still looked like he’d ingested poison. “You all right?” Sam asked him softly.

It took a minute for Dean to come around, but he finally gave a short nod. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“How do we do that?” Laura asked. She shifted between one foot and then the other. “I tried smashing windows, opening every door, and I couldn’t get anywhere. I finally hid in the museum and she didn’t come after me there. I only left because I heard you call for me. That’s when I slid down the hole into the basement.”

Hole? No, getting ahead of himself. They needed to get to that museum. They needed a map and answers. If there was a room the ghost wouldn’t touch, there was bound to be a good reason why inside. One that she’d probably fight really hard to keep them out of, but it could also be their chance to figure out what the hell happened and how to get her gone.

They made it to the entry hall and Sam hazarded a glance to the left. The stairs looked just as rotten as before, meaning they weren’t a safe way down. The hole in front of the front door looked bigger than Sam remembered, and he was surprised the front doors hadn’t caved in with the rest of it. The front door wasn’t an option anymore. Most of the doors probably weren’t, with all of them locked down.

_“Smart, Sam! Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave! Not ‘til I find you!”_

Sam almost tripped over his feet at the memory. Dean stopped and turned back, frowning, but Sam waved him off. He didn’t need help, he was fine. It was a memory, sometimes a nightmare. He could deal with it.

His eyes widened. Nightmare. Ice coated his stomach and he swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“Sam? Sammy?”

A hand touched his shoulder and Sam jerked away, trying to steady his breathing. “Woah, easy,” Dean said, but there was hurt in his eyes. Hurt that Sam had put there because he couldn’t get over his nonsensical fear. Dean wouldn’t hurt him. He _wouldn’t_.

_“Hell, I’m blessed! ‘Cause there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you? Ain’t no choice at all.”_

Sam shivered.

Focus. He had to focus. “It’s, it’s not,” he started, and his next breath came out in mist. He froze.

Another scream echoed through the hallway. Laura shrieked and dove for Dean, and Sam watched as another ghost came barreling down the hallway, eyes wide and full of fear, running straight for them.

Sam fumbled with the gun and pulled it up, but he never pulled the trigger. The spirit suddenly dropped to the ground, gurgling, blood foaming at his lips and landing on his uniform. A bloody hole appeared in his chest, spreading across the white shirt, and he hit the ground hard, revealing another spirit behind him.

A growl came from the spirit that remained, her hair even more tangled than Laura’s, eyes wild. A large blade coated with blood shook in her hand. She gave a feral scream and dove at them, knife diving towards Sam’s neck.

This time Dean pulled his shotgun up and fired, sending the spirit off. “Into the museum, now!” Dean shouted, and Laura took off, racing towards two massive doors that were still on their hinges. Sam took off after her and they hurried into the room just as another growl filled the air. The doors slammed shut behind them and Sam grabbed a nearby chair even as Dean pulled a small desk over. It wasn’t going to be enough to stop the spirit but would give them a chance to fire. Sam backed away, gun raised once more towards the doors. His heart pounded in his chest and he forced himself to focus on the door. Any second now and the axe would come through, Dean’s face on the other side—

“ _Stop_ it,” he growled to himself. He had to focus. He was going to get Dean and Laura killed if he couldn’t focus on the here and now.

It only heightened that he needed to talk to Dean, and fast.

The growl outside grew louder and louder, clearly coming for the door. Sam tightened his grip on his gun, waiting. Louder and louder towards them, and she had to be right outside. The doors rattled as someone pulled on the handles.

Silence fell. Sam tried to even out his breathing, pulling in big gulps of air. His face ached with each breath.

Dean hissed in pain beside him, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. “Think it’s gone?” he asked tersely.

Sam strained to hear beyond the doors, but the growl had stopped. Tentatively he let out a breath and he couldn’t see it. He wasn’t as cold, either. “I think so.” Maybe.

“They don’t come in here,” Laura said from behind them. “At least, they haven’t tried so far. I don’t know why.”

“Yeah, well, let’s make sure they don’t,” Dean said, and he sounded worried. “How many ghosts have we seen so far? And they’re aiming to kill us.”

“Some of them looked like they were running scared,” Sam had to point out. “Like the nurse, or the guy we first saw after we got off the elevator.”

“Not going to stick around to wait and see which one’s which,” Dean snapped, and when Sam began to speak, Dean turned and stormed off into the room. It only made the ice in Sam’s gut ten times worse.

He had to get past what had happened. He _had_ to. Or he was going to lose Dean.

Forcing himself to shove it down, he moved past Dean and caught his brother by the shoulder. Dean spun around, but he didn’t looked mad anymore – he looked surprised. “We need to talk,” Sam said, casting his voice low. Laura seemed to be glancing around the walls at the moment, and she didn’t need to hear this. “About the nightmare thing.”

Dean frowned warily. “Nightmare thing? Sam—”

“With the shifter ghost,” Sam said. “She pulled Laura’s nightmares out, right?”

Dean looked more than wary now, he looked downright nervous. “Sam—”

“She can probably pull ours out, too. She went through us. If she’s really a shifter, Dean, then she’s got access to our thoughts and what scares us. What we have nightmares about.” Sam swallowed hard. He didn’t want to admit this, but it wasn’t like Dean couldn’t guess. “And one of those nightmares of mine almost ended the world a few years ago.”

It didn’t take long for Dean to put it all together. His eyes went wide. “You think…?”

Sam pursed his lips. “If that shifter morphs into Lucifer…I don’t know what’s going to happen, Dean. But it’s not going to be good.”

Dean made a face. “Well, _shit_ ,” he summed up.

Yeah. That was about where Sam was at. “This isn’t just a rescue anymore,” Sam said, glancing at Laura.

“It’s a hunt,” Dean agreed. “We’ve got to know what happened here, now.”

Before the shifter ghost wound up taking on any of Sam’s nightmares.


	6. It Is a Tale, Full of Sound and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I miscounted. Or: the one where I had two chapter 7s. Um.
> 
> Have an updated chapter count and the 6th chapter of now 13.

“It’s over here,” Laura called, drawing their attention back to the room. Without the lights on, they were down to the flashlights, one in Dean’s hand, the other still in Sam’s sling. He was sort of grateful that his arm had gone mostly numb, because the pain would’ve left him unable to focus. The aftermath of what he’d done to this arm…that would suck. But he’d be lucky if he got to the aftermath part.

Dean had to know it wasn’t just a sprained elbow. It made something curdle in his gut because he’d lied to Dean, again.

He pursed his lips and felt the bruise pull on his face. His throat hurt, his arm didn’t hurt which was probably worse, and he was just bone-deep _exhausted_. He wanted to lay down and just give in to unconsciousness.

He couldn’t do that to Dean, though, or Laura. He needed to get them both out. Then…then he could pass out.

He aimed his flashlight towards where Laura was pointing. There was indeed a map, and best of all, it wasn’t a map of the hotel: it was a map of the asylum as it’d been. Laura looked hopeful and Sam rested his good hand on her shoulder. “That’s perfect,” he said, and she all but beamed. “Thanks, Laura.”

“There’s other stuff on the walls, too,” she said, almost eagerly. “Check out all the papers. I think they’re awards or something for one of the doctors. Dr. Mandel?”

“Lots of newspaper clippings,” Dean confirmed, looking them over. “Apparently Dr. Mandel had been a family doctor prior to leading the looney bin. Plenty of awards to his name. You’d think he was a boy scout. A ton of them were earned in 1955.” He frowned. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the year the asylum closed?”

“Yeah, it was.” Sam glanced over to where Dean was looking and frowned. A ton of awards over the summer of 1955. “Is that a…valor award?”

“Kinda disgusting,” Dean agreed. “Nothing valiant about any of this.”

“Any pictures?”

“None. So where’s a good exit?” Dean asked, peering at the map.

Sam shifted and glanced towards the door. The silence was starting to be worse than the screams. “Not up here. We’ve got to get to the main floor. The west wing and the east wing both have numerous doors and windows.”

“Elevator or stairs?” Dean asked.

Neither, but there wasn’t much Sam could do otherwise to get to where they needed. “Stairs are more defensible,” he offered.

Dean made a face. “And rotted, most likely. Elevator was in good condition.”

“Powered by her, and it works until she makes it fall.” There was no real safe way to get to where they needed to go, but they needed an option.

Laura slowly raised her hand, and Sam found his lips turning up in amusement. “Yes, Laura?”

“Um. We could go down through the floors.”

Sam began to respond, then stopped. Because it wasn’t ultimately a horrible idea. “’Through’? What do you mean by ‘through’?” Dean asked incredulously.

She shrugged. “There’s holes everywhere. It’s not hard to go from one floor to the next. And lots of ‘em are over mattresses.”

Sam glanced at Dean. Dean’s incredulity was fading into consideration, logic clearly taking over. _You good?_ Dean asked with a single gaze, and Sam gave a nod. More than good. Going from one floor to the next was even more defensible. Between the two of them, they could safely shift Laura from floor to floor, and if the floor gave, well, it was less likely to send them hurtling down through thin stairs. It was their best option.

He began to search around and found, for once, that the floor was fairly solid. “The one time you need a rotten floor,” he muttered, and heard Dean snort in amusement behind him.

“Pretty sure there’s a few good candidates on the floor still to be found. We passed two that I can think of.”

“That’s if our hostess lets us back that way,” Sam noted.

Dean just grinned and held up the shotgun. “I’m sure I can make her amenable.”

“You two are weird,” Laura muttered.

Sam found his lips turning up, and Dean’s grin almost seemed to widen. Maybe they weren’t as screwed as Sam thought. Maybe they could make it out with their relationship intact.

And maybe he’d find pink unicorns dancing down the halls.

“We going back out into the main hall?” Dean asked.

Sam’s eyes drifted to the door off to the side in the museum. _Employees Only_ was faded but still easy to read. “How about not?”

“Works for me,” Dean said immediately and headed for the door.

The door gave easily and Dean peered inside. Shelves and filing cabinets filled up most of the space inside, with even more glass frames on the walls.

Dean made a face. More dusty papers. Wonderful.

Sam, on the other hand, looked like it was Christmas. “Records,” he said, and he hurried inside. Dean immediately went on the defense, glancing around, but there didn’t seem to be any shadows lurking. Wherever _she_ was, it wasn’t here.

Laura quickly hurried over to join up with Sam, who was busy digging into the filing cabinet with gusto. “Anything?” Dean asked.

Sam slowly nodded, and there was triumph in his eyes. “The motherload. Dean, it’s all here. Patient files, doctor’s notes, calendars. They saved it _all_.”

Something that felt suspiciously like hope began to beat in Dean’s chest. “Think it might be enough to get a leg-up on getting out of here?”

“Why would knowing what happened matter?” Laura asked. “Is it going to scare her?”

“No. We know what scares her. What we need is her to _leave_. Which means we need to know why she’s hanging around.”

Sam made an _aha_ noise and pulled out a large stack of folders from the back of the second cabinet. Dean rolled his eyes and hurried over because of course the idiot was trying to load them all off himself with only one good arm. “Mortuary records,” Sam said, and okay, ew. No one should look that gleeful digging through dead people stuff. Sometimes Sam just scared him.

“Mortuary?” Laura asked, looking like she knew she’d regret it.

Dean set the file down on a nearby desk. “Autopsies,” he told her after glancing at the first few files. “Looks like they did their own medical records all the way to the end.”

Surprisingly, Laura’s face lit up. “Like CSI? That’s kinda cool.”

“Okay, you’re both officially freaking me out, thanks,” Dean muttered. Laura grinned and shared a conspiratorial look with Sam. Thankfully, however, she didn’t get any closer to the files, and Dean was content to let her _not_ look. CSI made it look far more glamorous than it really was.

Sam started moving through documents, making a face at a few. “Most everything here looks like it’s crap from the hotel written to up the spook factor. Like that certain ghosts could almost be depended on to show up at a certain time. Or that Mandel apparently circled the day he was going to die in his calendar book that got left behind when the asylum closed.”

“Creepy,” Laura said, and Dean’s lips turned up.

“Probably made it up for marketing purposes, kiddo. Sorry.”

“It wasn’t exactly the world’s most prestigious death either,” Sam added. “He had a heart attack right next to his car outside the asylum.”

Dean glanced around at some of the papers still pinned behind the glass cabinets. Even through the grime, he could read the headlines. _RIOT IN ASYLUM BRINGS DEATH TO TOWN_ “Okay, that explains a few things,” Dean muttered.

“What?”

“Did you know there was a riot in the asylum? On…August 5th, 1955?”

Sam paused. “I couldn’t find anything on the actual asylum, remember? There’s nothing.”

Right. This room was probably their best chance at discovering what the heck had happened over fifty years prior. Dean peered through the dirty glass to try and read more about the riot. The newspaper clipping looked legit, so he didn’t think it was more propaganda.

Dean cleared his throat and began to read. “’Authorities were forced to intervene on behalf of the Howard Mental Asylum on account of a patient-led riot that left several dead and more tragically wounded. There is not a final tally count as to who is among the dead, nor how many at this point in time. Dr. Mandel, spokesperson for the Institute and local family physician, spoke to the press and verified that some had died but that they still had a firm control over everything.’” Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen less spirits in a graveyard, dude. That must’ve been a hell of a riot.”

“What’s a spokesperson?” Laura asked.

“It means someone speaks on behalf of the whole place,” Sam told her, then frowned. “Lead physician, maybe, or head doctor. That’s what I’d have expected them to say. But ‘spokesperson’? What the heck?”

“That’s what it says,” Dean insisted. “You come read it if you want.”

But Sam already had his eyes back on the numerous files sprawled in front of him, and he was shaking his head. “Actually, I’m starting to think that they had the right of it. Dr. Mandel is barely mentioned in any of these files, and that’s not his name here. When they talk about tests and results and experiments done, Mandel’s not anywhere in it. The only place that might be him is in the initials for approval.”

“So Dr. Mandel wasn’t the brains of the operation.”

“No, doesn’t look like it. That dubious distinction belongs to…” Sam squinted at the page. “Dr. Jeremiah Hayes. He’s everywhere in these files.”

“I have something about Hayes on the wall,” Laura called out. She pointed to a document with a smiling face on it, hidden beneath a neatly trimmed dark beard. Dean frowned at it. For some reason, it looked familiar. “It’s not a very long read. The one about Dr. Mandel’s is way longer.”

“So what, Mandel’s the face of the asylum? And Hayes was the brains?”

“And the backbone,” Sam agreed, flipping through dusty papers. “Every single one of these initials was signed by Hayes. I thought it was an odd-looking M but it’s not, it’s an H. Mandel did hardly anything.”

A nasty thought slithered into Dean’s bones and made him shudder. “What?” Sam asked immediately.

“If Mandel wasn’t the driving force…how much of what happened here was because of him?”

He watched Sam put two and two together in an instant and pale. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Laura asked immediately. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong? Please don’t let something be wrong.”

“Not about the ghost,” Dean assured her. “We were just going down the wrong trail, that’s all.” Mandel had never been the problem, which meant he wasn’t likely to be a part of the solution.

Another thought hit hard. “How much you want to bet that Mandel was covering for Hayes with his squeaky-clean, family-friendly visage?”

“No bet,” Sam said firmly. “Hayes was definitely the one doing the experiments. Mandel’s schedule has very clear appointments. Hayes’ just says ‘Lab’ over and over again.”

Well that was…not awesome. Which meant that their ghost didn’t have a beef with Mandel. It was all Hayes. “You got anything on what happened to Hayes?” Dean asked.

Slowly Sam shook his head, grimacing at the documents. “Nothing. He never came up in my online search about the asylum, either. The only people I could find were Dr. Mandel and a Mrs. Howard, the one whose family had set up the asylum in the first place. She was an administrator at the time and the one who sold the place to the hotel owners. And there’s no way in hell I’ll know where to find what I need here. We don’t have that kind of time.”

Suddenly Laura inhaled sharply, making Dean pivot, shotgun up. He should’ve known, he should’ve known, she’d left them alone too long—

The tall, dark-haired figure that had pursued them through the basement stood just outside the employee door. Surprisingly, she didn’t come inside, just stood, head tilted to the side, eyes like black holes. Sam reached out and caught Laura by the shoulder, hauling her in up against him, but the figure just watched them.

Dean kept his finger on the trigger. Laura’s purse was out in front of her like a talisman, but that wouldn’t be enough to keep any ghost away, not even one deathly afraid of leather. Was she…waiting on them? Hoping they’d figure it out?

He took a chance. “It was Hayes, right?” he called. Black eyes slid to him and made him feel suddenly cold. “It was Dr. Hayes that carved you up, wasn’t it?”

The thin woman became the young girl in an instant, leather still in place. She snarled at him, teeth too big and sharp to fit in her mouth, and holy shit, were they _growing_ , and then—

She was gone. Dean realized his pulse was thundering in his neck a moment later and swallowed, trying to breathe.

“Holy shit,” Sam mumbled. “What the hell?”

“Right there with you,” Dean managed. Why hadn’t she come at them? Was she wanting them to deliver Hayes to her? Did she want them to find out?

Laura’s voice trembled. “Is she…is she going to leave us alone?”

He really hated to pop her little bubble of hope. “For right now,” Dean allowed. “Looks like we’re okay for the time being.” He checked the room again but no, it was just the one door in and out. Which she wasn’t interested in passing through, for some reason.

“Did…you put salt down?”

Dean frowned. “We don’t _have_ any salt, remember?”

Sam made a face, then turned back to the documents. “Think you can find something in there?” Dean asked instead. If anyone could take those papers and make something out of them, it’d be Sam.

His little brother didn’t look so sure, but he gamely turned back to the documents. Laura kicked a few random pamphlets aside with all the boredom of a young kid. She’d been a champ, honestly, and Dean didn’t know many adults that could survive a full day in a place as haunted as this. Maybe the spirit girl had left her alone out of some camaraderie, or sympathy. They were probably about the same age, all said and done. Whatever the reason, it was a break Dean hadn’t expected. He’d half expected to be dragging a body out to grieving parents.

“Gina.”

Dean glanced over. Sam looked like he’d hit gold and he held up a single sheet with a photo paperclipped in the top right corner. A familiar face glared back: their resident ghost. “You found her file?” Dean said, startled.

“Most of the files have names, except for one I saw that was just ‘Subject A’. But her name was Gina, no last name. They described her shifting as, get this, ‘bioschizophrenic syndrome’.”

Well. It sort of made sense. “I think ‘shifter’ is way less of a mouthful,” Dean noted. Sam snorted.

“Yeah. They’ve got her labeled with a few other issues too. They…” And then he went silent. His eyes were clearly still reading, skirting right and then left and right again, but his face had gone pale.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

Sam swallowed. “They, um. They listed their ‘treatments’ in here.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Yeah, okay, that’s not helping anyone,” Dean declared, and he moved forward, tossing another piece of paper on top of the girl’s file. It had probably been bad, even by their standards, and Dean could only imagine the experiments they’d conducted on a poor girl that had been the first shifter they’d ever encountered.

And the last thing a little brother, who was already flashing to times he’d been tortured, needed to see.

“Did they do…bad things?” Laura asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Sam said, and he sounded angry. Very, very angry. “Yeah, they did. They got what they deserved.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Monsters, spirits, I get.” Dean shook his head. “People are just crazy.”

Sam just stared down at the only thing sticking out, the lone photo of Gina. “’The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones’,” he murmured.

The Mark burned a little on Dean’s arm and he shifted, fighting the urge to scratch it against his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve been left alone for a little too long and I don’t like it. Is there anything here you need?”

“Not really,” Sam admitted. “What am I going to get from hotel crap about Mandel apparently knowing the day he was going to die from his ten-year-old calendar book?”

Point. “Well, we’ve got her name, and we know about Hayes. That might be worth something, in the end,” Dean said. “Let’s keep moving while we’ve still got legs willing to work.”

“Wait.”

Dean glanced up. Sam seemed frozen, standing in the middle of the room. “What?” Laura asked.

But he could see it, spinning through Sam’s head, his eyes filled with a light that he hadn’t seen in too damn long. This was Sam in thinking mode, Sam putting together pieces that no one else could.

“If…” Sam pursed his lips and clearly tried to come at it another way. “No, but…then…”

“What?” Laura asked again, and Dean shushed her, eyes still on Sam. _C’mon, Sammy. Figure it out._

After a moment, however, Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I’m, I’m probably wrong,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

“No, you had something,” Dean said. “Follow it.”

“It’s probably just a rabbit trail,” Sam said. “It’s not that big a deal. I don’t want to waste the time we have to—”

“Don’t do that.”

Sam paused, uncertainty across every inch of him. “Don’t,” Dean said again. “You can do this, Sam. Follow it. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t want to be the reason you or Laura get hurt,” Sam said softly, making Dean frown. “Or worse.”

Even before he could say anything, however, Dean’s own words came back to haunt him. _Maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you. That your very existence sucked the life out of my life!_ Sam’s hesitance in the car, Sam’s self-doubt throughout this entire case hadn’t just been from his brother’s frustration with the Mark. No, Dean had done that, with black eyes and a hammer. He hadn’t realized how much of a hole he’d blown into Sam’s self-esteem. He’d certainly known where to hit as a demon, and hit hard.

Dean swallowed. “If you think it’s worth thinking it over, then it’s worth the time. Tell me.”

Sam hesitated, but after a moment finally said, “I don’t have any way to prove it. It’s just a theory.”

“So tell me how it happened,” Dean said. “Walk me through it. C’mon, Sammy.”

The bruise on the side of Sam’s face looked even worse as he turned towards the flashlight, but it also let Dean see the gears spinning merrily away again. “Why circle the day you’re going to die as important?”

“They found him by his car, right?” Dean said. “Near the asylum, you said. He was going somewhere. So clearly he had an appointment.”

Slowly Sam shook his head. “It was more than that. I think…I think he knew he was going to die. Think about it, Dean. The asylum closed in August of 1955. Mandel died in April of 1965. Ten years. The asylum did incredibly well until it suddenly shut down.”

Sometimes it felt a lot like walking through sludge, trying to keep up with Sam’s brain. “And it shut down out of nowhere, so it probably had to do with the riot.”

“Right, but Dean, there’s record profits in 1955, according to the accounting books I saw. Mandel was suddenly getting all sorts of awards that he didn’t really deserve. All of it in the few months leading up to the asylum closing. All of it out of nowhere.”

It clicked in an instant. “You think he made a deal?” Dean said, stunned. “You think Mandel sold his soul?”

“You can do that?” Laura asked, bewildered.

“C’mon Dean, lots of fame and glory and then ten years later, boom, he dies right outside the park here?”

Wait a minute. “What do you mean, right outside the park?”

Sam frowned. “They said they found him dead on the road, right next to his car. They figured he had a heart attack and tried to get out of the car. Um, hang on.” He scrambled through the documents until he found the news clipping he was looking for. “Witnesses from the park said that he’d let out a scream and then collapsed in the middle of the intersection.”

“The intersection near the park.”

“Yeah, it has to be.”

That stupid son of a bitch. “He sold his soul all right,” Dean said, shaking his head. “And he was trying to get out of it in the end. That intersection we drove through was a crossroads. There a picture?”

Sam handed the newspaper over and there it was, clear as a bell: the dirt road. “Asshole,” Dean muttered angrily. “Mandel’s done.”

“So it’s definitely not him that’s causing problems here,” Sam said, lips pursed. “He’s already downstairs.”

And hopefully being chewed on by Hell’s best. It made Dean want to call Crowley and ask. “So Mandel sold his soul and tried to squelch on it. It’s probably how he got out of the riot alive; ten years, no more, no less.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, yeah. But then why did the asylum close?” Sam asked. “They had everything they wanted. That’s why I said this was a rabbit trail, I’m sorry.”

“Here’s another award for Mandel,” Laura called, glancing up at the walls. “Man, Hayes didn’t get credit for anything.”

Dean froze. Sam stared at him, jaw dropping. “That’s it,” they said together.

Laura jumped. “That’s creepy when you do that. What is it?”

“Hayes,” Dean said. “Hayes got jealous. The stupid sonuvabitch got jealous and probably tried to take on Mandel.”

“One thing leads to another, they fight,” Sam said, running with it, pacing around Dean. “Mandel probably says something stupid and arrogant.”

“All the bad guys do,” Laura agreed.

Dean’s lips turned up for a moment. “Hayes tries to take him on. Accidentally lets everyone out.”

“Instant riot.” With the nurses just as ready to take out Hayes as the patients.

It all lined up. It was the only thing that made sense. “And you thought that wasn’t worth our time,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “You just gave us the best damn way to get out of here.”

Sam’s cheeks went a little red, but his lips turned up. He winced when it pinched the bruise. “Yeah, well, we still don’t know what happened to Hayes. And that’s what we really need to know.”

Laura gasped again, and Dean realized she was close to the door. Too close, and there was their resident psycho dressed as the woman from the basement, eyes gleaming beneath the dark hair, hand reaching out to catch Laura’s arm.


	7. There Is No Darkness But Ignorance

“Laura!” Dean shouted, but Sam was closer. He reached out desperately, catching hold of Laura’s purse and hauling her back. The spirit, Gina, reached even farther, and her cold fingers caught around Sam’s arm.

Pain shot up his arm, followed by cold, so much cold, and the horrific need to claw at his face until it bled. She’d tried to get out and had never managed it, running for the front doors again and again and being caught every time, had screamed as they’d put her under the knife, not that knife, the one with the jagged edges that Lucifer preferred, please, no, let him out—

The cold vanished and Sam stumbled away, shaking from head to toe. Firm hands had him, pulling him away, and Sam barely managed to understand that it was Dean, that he was safe, before Gina was there, diving at them again, bloody fingertips straight up.

“Leave them alone!”

Gina stopped, long hair swishing slightly, eyes dark and staring straight through them. Laura glared at the spirit. “You don’t scare me anymore! So go away!”

The woman flickered out and back to Gina’s smaller form. For a moment, she didn’t move, and she almost looked surprised.

Then she snarled and ran towards them again.

This time Dean shoved him out of the line of fire, leaving Gina to barrel straight at one of the larger metal shelves. The shelving suddenly went tumbling to the floor, and then there wasn’t a floor anymore.

The floor gave way into the steepest slide Sam had ever been on, and for the second time that night, he went tumbling down into an unknown room. Laura shrieked and Dean shouted something and then they were on the ground. Sam hit the ground hard on his left side, and he lost his breath for a moment as his ribs took the hit. His next breaths were painful, but he could breathe, and he hadn’t hit his bad arm. At least he’d been able to slide down instead of completely drop.

He spun around hard, harder than he should’ve, but he needed to know. His flashlight searched all above them for any sight of Gina.

None. She was gone again.

Slowly he pushed himself up and tried to take stock. Dean had landed behind him, and Laura had landed on top of Dean. She had a bleeding scratch on her forehead but otherwise just looked shaken.

Dean was slower to get up, and he winced as he sat upright. “You ‘kay?” Sam got out, coughing on the dust that had risen from their landing.

“Ribs have felt better,” Dean said, hissing as he cradled an arm around his chest. “But I think the bigger question is, are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, I feel you on the ribs,” Sam said, but Dean was already shaking his head.

“No, I mean up there. What the _fuck_ happened?”

“You were screaming,” Laura whispered fearfully. “She grabbed you and you looked really scared and you didn’t stop screaming.”

Sam felt his cheeks heat under their gazes. “Some transference, I guess,” he muttered. “I got some of her memories. She tried to escape a lot. The rest of the memories…they weren’t pretty.” Hayes still had nothing on Lucifer, but they’d both had a fascination with jagged edges. He shuddered and forced himself to look around.

Dean’s flashlight was a few feet away, highlighting the broken floor that was halfway through the room. There was a window that wasn't blocked off on the back side, letting in some light from the outside thanks to the moon. Not a lot, but enough to see the mess of the room. This had probably been an office at one point, if the crushed desks were anything to go by.

Most of the filing cabinets had slid down with them, it looked like, and there were still papers and files raining down on top of them. Who knew where the hell anything was anymore.

“Easy up,” Dean said quietly, suddenly in front of him, and Sam wondered how he’d missed his brother sneaking up on him. _Walking over, not sneaking up,_ he thought furiously, and he took the offered hand and let Dean pull him up to standing. That wasn’t so bad.

And then the room spun a little and he was there, under someone else's hand, cold and full of burning darkness, and he shook himself hard enough to dislodge Dean’s grip.

“Okay, yeah, you need to sit down,” Dean said, worry clear in his voice, and this time when Dean caught hold of him, it wasn't Lucifer but all big brother. He let careful hands guide him up against some of the sturdier rubble.

“Need to watch Laura,” Sam murmured, but sitting down felt nice. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall asleep this way.

“She’s a big girl, she’s got this.” Dean paused, and when Sam met his gaze, his brother looked hesitant. “Was it…him?”

Sam didn’t have to ask. “Yeah,” he said, pitching his voice low enough for Laura to not hear. She stood near the window, her eyes locked on them. “For a little bit. Hayes and Lucifer…Similar methods, you could say.”

Dean cursed, low and angry, and it went a stupid long way towards easing the ache in Sam’s chest whenever he thought about the long hours of trying to get his brother back. This was Dean, not that black-eyed wannabe.

“I’m sorry.”

They turned to where Laura stood, biting her lip. “I didn’t think I was that far from you,” she said wretchedly. “I thought I was okay, that she wouldn’t come in. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sam said immediately. “I’m a big guy, I can take it. I’d much rather she come at me than you.” He’d take that hellscape and a lot of flashbacks to spare Laura that nightmare.

“He’ll be all right,” Dean said with far more confidence than Sam felt. “Let’s, uh, you and me see if we can figure out what to do with all of this, and let Sam take a break for a bit.”

“I don’t understand,” Laura said, frowning. “If Dr. Mandel wasn’t really the bad guy and it was all Dr. Hayes, what does that mean for us? For the girl…Gina, right?”

Sam found himself glancing around to see if she’d appeared at the mention of her name. The room was empty save for them, though, for the time being.

“What is that?”

Sam immediately shot up at Laura’s hushed whisper, then sank back with a groan. But it was something sort of shiny and very dark, and in the light of the moon, it looked like it was crawling across the floor. His hand went for his piece, still tucked into the back of his jeans.

Then Dean’s flashlight hit it, and Sam let out a breath. He knew exactly what that was.

“Big pipe,” Dean said, and there was relief in his eyes. “Ten bucks says it’s iron. And if it fell with the rest of the floor, then it probably ran around the museum underneath. No wonder the ghosts shied away. Looks rusted and I bet it doesn't run completely the length of the upper floor, but enough. Just enough.”

“Think we can take it with us?” Sam asked, and Dean’s grin was all he needed. For now, it could stay where it was, the broken floor having clearly revealed its hiding place. It was loose now and would easily come up.

Something echoed in the room, making Sam tense. Dean’s hand flew to his gun and Laura immediately dove to be at his side. They stood for a moment, waiting. Sam’s flashlight went over every single corner of the room, trying to see if something had gotten in with them.

Another chirp, but it was muffled, as if trying to come through something. Sam frowned because he knew that sound; how did he know that sound? It wasn’t a sound he’d heard recently, but he knew it.

Wait. No way. It couldn’t be.

“Your phone,” Sam said numbly, and Dean stared at him. “Dean, that’s…that’s your _phone_.”

Dean frantically began tearing at his jacket until he hauled his phone out. He stared at the screen for a moment, his face lit in the darkness of the room. “News update,” Dean muttered. “Holy _shit_ it gave me my news update.”

How? How the hell did Dean have reception? “Try to get out to the internet,” Sam said, trying to sit up. His ribs protested and he settled back, focusing on breathing. “Dean, we can get every answer we need if we can get on the internet.”

He’d be able to research. If he could just get out, he could get them physically out.

Dean’s face was lit up enough for Sam to see his frustration. “It won’t do anything. I don’t know how in the hell it managed to get what it did but—”

His eyes went wide. “Wait, it just loaded something. What the…?”

Even as Sam frowned, Dean suddenly turned to the window and ran over to it. “Clear shot of the sky,” he said with a hysterical laugh. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?” Laura asked anxiously. “What do you mean?”

“So you do have reception,” Sam said, stunned.

“When the sky’s clear, yeah, and there’s not a lot of it,” Dean said helplessly. Laura raced to the window, face all but pressed up against the glass. “There’s a ton of clouds that keep rolling in and they’re blocking what I’ve got. You know what you’re searching for, take my phone—”

“I can’t type,” Sam said, gesturing towards his arm. He was more than sunk, he was practically worthless like he was. “Not fast enough. You have to do it.”

Dean looked like Sam had taken the Impala and thrown it off a cliff. “But,” he started, and Laura pointed to the sky.

“It’s clearing again! Hurry!”

Sam’s mind spun. “Search for Dr. Jeremiah Hayes public records,” he said, and Dean frantically started typing. Sam’s heart kept beating hard and fast against his bruised ribs, making it all the more painful, but his anxiety wasn’t letting up. If they couldn’t find out what happened to Hayes, then they had no chance of getting out.

“Nothing,” Dean said after a moment, and Sam pinched his eyes shut.

“Dr. Jeremiah Hayes institution.”

More typing. “A few Dr. Hayes but no Jeremiah,” Dean said, desperate now. “Sam, I’ve got nothing, I don’t know what to look for.”

“There’s clouds coming in,” Laura said fearfully. “ _Hurry_!”

Think think think. What did he need? What was he missing? “Dr. Jeremiah Hayes obit,” he said suddenly, and Dean started typing again.

Laura kept her head craned through the window on the other side of Dean, biting her lip. “They’re coming in, they’re going to block the moon,” she said, wringing her hands. “They’re coming, they’re…”

The moonlight disappeared. Sam held his breath, staring at his brother. “Dean?”

Dean’s face was still lit by his phone, enough that Sam could see his eyes clearly when they raised to meet Sam’s. “Anything?” Sam asked hesitantly.

Dean stared, then slowly began to smile. “Dr. Jeremiah Hayes, born May 12th, 1924, died August 5th, 1955.”

Sam felt himself collapse back against the wall. Next to Dean, Laura did some sort of dance that he assumed was everything to do with elementary school and all the excitement of something, for once, going right. It felt _good_. And a little heady, because Sam’s pulse still hadn’t come down which, hey, probably wasn’t likely anytime soon.

Dean grinned, only highlighting the deep scratches in his face, but they thankfully didn’t reopen and bleed. “It’s a very nice obit. Hayes was an upstanding member of society, a paradigm of virtue in the medical community, died choking in his sleep at such a _young_ age.”

Wait. “That’s what they went with?” Sam said incredulously.

“Were you looking for something better than that?” Laura asked, raising an eyebrow at him, and oh god, they’d taught her sass. Her parents wouldn’t forgive them for that.

Dean just kept grinning. “Sammy’s always irritated whenever they gloss over the good bits. It’s sort of adorable.”

Sam delicately raised his good hand and flipped Dean off. Laura giggled, all high-pitched from an adrenaline come-down, and Sam leaned his head back against the wall. Now the unfun part.

“Unfun part?”

Guess he’d been talking out loud. “August 5th, 1955, was the day of the riot,” Sam said, not opening his eyes. “That means Hayes died here.”

The first ghost. “Dean,” he said, and Dean’s head whipped around immediately, tense and ready to move. It shouldn’t have made Sam feel so warm, to see Dean reacting so quickly, but it did. Sort of said a lot about them in general.

“What?”

“The first ghost, the one who attacked us. The one with the beard and the doctor’s coat.”

It was Laura who actually jumped on it first. “It was Dr. Hayes, wasn’t it?”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “I saw him, upstairs in one of the pictures. Way more put together but I think you’re right, that was him downstairs.”

“It had to be. From the photos I could see, Mandel had silver hair, clean shaven. Hayes had dark hair.” And if he’d died in the asylum, it made sense as to why he was still there.

Silence. “So…autopsy records?” Dean said. “Bet they did their own on their own good doctor.”

It was probably one of the last things they’d done, in a bid to not have the asylum lost. “I didn’t see anything in there with his name on it,” Sam said, then stopped, because of course they wouldn’t have done that. Of _course_ they would’ve hidden his name.

And just like that, he knew exactly what file it was.

“Subject A,” he said, eyes flying open. “Dean, there was an autopsy file, Subject A—”

Dean was already hurrying over to the filing cabinet, or what was left of it. “This is going to help, right?” Laura asked, nervous again. Sam glanced up and found nothing but the faint glow of Dean’s flashlight bouncing off the ceiling two stories above them. No eerie face peered over the edge. They were sitting ducks if she came in that way. So far, however, she hadn’t seemed to figure that out.

There were pluses to having a child as a spirit: they didn’t get suddenly mature and know all the intricacies of the universe. Often, they were still just kids. What had been barred before would probably still be barred, in her mind, such as coming through a floor. Even though she could totally come into what remained of the room now.

“Got it,” Dean said triumphantly, and he crouched next to Sam. Laura hurried over and Dean immediately put a hand over her eyes, earning a, “ _Hey_!” that they both ignored. She didn’t need to see…woah. That was a _lot_ of bruising.

And definitely Hayes. They’d done their best to keep his face out of it, but the trimmed beard was there with the almost blackened neck. It didn’t look like hands, but something bigger. Something thicker.

Something with small holes in it.

“The straps,” Sam said suddenly, his stomach churning. “He got strangled with one of the straps from the examination chairs.” Which explained the hole markings in his own neck, something that Dean seemed to realize at the same time, if his brother’s face was any indication. Dean’s hand rested on Sam’s good shoulder, and it helped Sam breathe.

“Okay, ew,” Laura muttered, eyes still covered. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“And you wanted to _look_?” Dean asked incredulously.

Sam rolled his eyes and dragged the file over. Sure enough, they’d given a location of where they’d found the ‘victim’, and it was exactly where he’d been hoping they wouldn’t have to go. “Shit.”

“What?”

Sam pursed his lips. “West wing. It’s what I sort of figured, since that was when the hotel ran into problems: they were trying to renovate the last of the rooms. I bet they stirred him up.”

Dean seemed to be thinking this through. “So…wait. Gina didn’t kill those people?”

“ _He_ did?” Laura said, stunned. “Then…where is he?”

Probably in the west wing. Sam stopped, frowned, then felt ice sink into his stomach. “What?” Dean asked again. “Sam, _what_?”

“We’re going east,” Sam murmured.

Dean frowned. “Yeah? And?”

“She’s been pushing us east.”

“She’s been chasing us to kill us,” Laura insisted, but Sam slowly shook his head. Spirits didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and a child’s ghost would be even more messed up. She was psychotic, absolutely, and ready to do damage, but in her own twisted way, she’d been trying to keep them away from the west side of the building.

Away from Hayes.

Sam glanced at Dean, and Dean slowly nodded. They couldn’t take Laura there. Hayes needed to be dealt with, absolutely, but they couldn’t drag a child there. They were lucky she hadn’t been injured worse than she already was. Knowledge had helped them figure out what was going on, and it would be enough to come deal with it after they’d gotten Laura out.

Now they knew to keep going east.

“Is there another door as far east as we can get?” Dean asked, apparently thinking the same thing. “She’s less likely to keep coming at us if she’s accomplished her goal of scaring us off.”

“Yeah, there is. Two doors, actually. No clue if we can get to either one.”

“They’re on this floor, right?” Laura asked, but her voice was suddenly quiet.

Sam frowned and saw her staring at the door in front of them. He turned and almost jumped at the sight.

Gina stood in the doorway, staring at the iron pipe. After a moment, she stepped along it until she was past, then glanced up at them with a slow, growing smile.

She was inside.


	8. I Have Shot Mine Arrow O’er the House and Hurt My Brother

As sympathetic to her cause as Dean felt himself now, he was absolutely _not_ going to let her anywhere near Sam or Laura again. He swung around and lifted his shotgun in one fell swoop, finger already on the trigger. “Go!” he shouted, or tried to.

In an instant she was in front of him, already shifting into something taller, and she sent him flying with a single swipe of her arm. The sensation was dizzying, but only for a moment, and then he hit against the fallen floor. Pain shot through his spine and the back of his head, and everything went fuzzy.

When he managed to get his vision back, it was to a figure looming over Sam and Laura. Laura was tucked behind his brother, eyes wide and frightened, staring at the figure. Sam had his single good arm thrown out to the side to block Laura, his eyes locked on the approaching figure, but that was real fear in his eyes. Dean shook his head to try and focus, he had to _focus_ —

And then wished he hadn’t. Because he knew that red shirt, now burned and tossed out of the bunker, but he couldn’t do that to the rest of the being. Sam would probably object, but if he’d thought it would help Sam, he’d set himself on fire in an instant.

But this was the same face that haunted his sleep every night, his own face with black eyes, and she’d pulled it out of Dean’s head to torment Sam yet again.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” his voice said, and Sam _flinched._ “C’mon Sammy, let’s play a game.”

And there was the hammer, hanging oh so casually in the nightmare’s hand.

Dean forced himself to get up. The pain in his back didn’t relent, in fact got even worse, but he grabbed his shotgun and raced forward. The figure that was him kept stalking forward, like he didn’t have a care in the world and he knew because that was how he’d felt, like he’d known he’d have Sam at the end. He’d known it, known how to corner Sam, how to get his brother to stop fighting, how to give up—

With a scream Dean swung the shotgun through the being. His own visage spun around before flickering out, and it wasn’t going to disperse her, of course not, but it’d be enough to catch her attention. Or, really, his own. The shotgun landed back in his grasp, his fingers hot on the trigger, and he swung to the side so the shot steered clear of Sam and Laura. It meant he went face to face with the being that Gina had conjured up.

It meant he stared at his own face, black eyes crinkled up with a cruel smirk.

Dean snarled, pulled the shotgun up to aim at the face, and fired straight through the eyes. His demonic self winked out of existence, a flash of Gina appearing briefly as she screamed and disappeared. The only thing left was the echo of the blast and his own panting.

His, and Sam’s, who sounded like he was going to hyperventilate.

He met Sam’s gaze briefly before Sam looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Something inside of him broke and he swallowed hard. “We gotta go,” he said, voice dull. “Before she comes back. East, we’ll go east.”

No one said anything. Dean felt like he was going to burn up right there, hellfire consuming him here on earth. He could still feel the handle of the hammer, heavy in his hand, heavier still once it cracked into Sam’s skull—

Bile rose so swiftly he almost didn’t catch it in time, and he gagged before he forced it back down. He forced himself to lead the way, grabbing the iron pole as an afterthought on the way out. She’d be back.

And she’d be returning as his worst nightmare.

They made their way out of the room as a silent contingent.

Dean wouldn’t even look at him anymore. Not that Sam could muster up the strength to look at his brother. If he didn’t see black eyes, he’d see his brother’s desperation, his hurt because Sam couldn’t get past this. He couldn’t see past the black eyes that haunted his sleep.

This was Dean. This was _Dean_. The brother he’d fought so hard to get back. The guy who’d give his right arm, his own _soul_ , to keep Sam safe.

It was probably why it had hurt so bad, to have Dean coming after him like he was another monster to hunt. Echoes of a voicemail from years ago, probably said in a fit of fury, came through and Sam couldn’t repress a wince. Wasn’t the first time his brother had considered him worth killing.

He was arguing nonsense, because the brother in front of him had taken the visage out in an instant, aiming straight for his own head, he’d been so upset. Dean had been so desperate to get past becoming what he’d fought and hunted his whole life that he hadn’t so much as made a sound in the bunker for days, and Dean had let Sam’s possession go, years ago, and Sam couldn’t here? How damning was that of him?

How damning was it that his worst nightmare had been _Dean_ and not Lucifer?

Heart somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, Sam followed after his brother, who was silent once more. Laura looked torn, hanging near Sam, her eyes constantly going to Dean. Unable to find the words for either of them, Sam settled for resting a hand on Laura’s shoulder and squeezing. He even managed a crooked smile when she glanced up at him uncertainly.

It occurred to Sam that he was going to have to say something – he knew the layout and Dean didn’t. He hated to break the silence that Dean was clearly clinging to, but they needed to get out. He cleared his throat and watched Dean flinch. His stomach dropped even lower. “It’s, um, through a door somewhere up here. The hallway curves to the left and then splits in two directions. Another hallway.” He glanced behind him and couldn’t see anything.

She’d figure out how to come back faster. But for right now, the spirit didn’t seem to be around. Or Hayes. So far, he hadn’t shown again, and Sam was hoping they’d get Laura out before that happened.

Then…then maybe he could talk to Dean. Explain.

…Okay so he didn’t have the faintest idea of how the hell to do that but he had to try. Because he couldn’t lose Dean again. He just couldn’t. The Mark had threatened to take him, and then the whole crap with Gadreel, and Dean had _died_. And now he was back, that stupid Mark still there but it was Dean in everything he said and did. A pair of black eyes didn’t change that.

It didn’t.

Even before anyone could say anything, however, a scream went up, and Sam fumbled to get a hold of a weapon, anything, as a spirit ran straight at them. Her eyes were wide with fear as she ran, nurse’s uniform dark with bloody smears, and then—

She tumbled to the ground, lifeless. Sam stared as her body flickered before disappearing.

Laura’s face was buried in his leg, hands over her ears. Sam swallowed hard but couldn’t really comfort her from that side. Awkwardly he bent down to let his fingers from his bad hand pat her on the top of her head. “Dean,” he said after a moment, helpless.

“Laura,” Dean called without hesitation, and this time Laura didn’t seem at all uncertain as she turned and ran straight into him. Dean held her tight, but his gaze was on Sam. Sam gave a short nod and tried to smile. From the look on Dean’s face, it hadn’t really worked.

“Which door?” Dean asked, thankfully, but his voice was still as empty as it had been before. Sam winced and kept his head down. He could ignore it. That’s what Dean wanted, and for once, Sam was going to honor that.

Looking at the hallway, it had to be the door on the right. Sam winced. “The one that the nurse came out of, actually.” He made a face. She’d just…died, right in front of them. Like the orderly and the patient had earlier.

Death echo. Sam’s head whipped up. Dean didn’t say anything, but his face reflected his confusion. “Death echo,” Sam said, and his brother’s eyes widened in realization. “Dean, they’re all death echoes.”

“Where was the riot?” Dean asked. “Where did it start?”

“Near their offices.” Which were…

Sam shut his eyes. “East wing, right?” Dean said, sounding unenthused. “ _Fuck_.”

Laura didn’t say anything, and Sam opened his eyes to see her all but buried in Dean’s embrace. She was just a _kid_. She didn’t deserve this.

He still didn’t know how Gina had died. He had a decent idea of how Hayes had actually kicked the bucket. And who knew how the heck everyone else had died. None of it mattered, not really, but it was going to make getting Laura out safe that much harder.

He was just…really tired. And frankly, he’d rather sit down and just breathe for a little bit. Just not be running for his life for what felt like the millionth time. He’d been going full-tilt for what felt like months, and it wasn’t like he’d slept a hell of a lot trying to track down and heal Dean. Or gotten a lot of restful sleep since.

“Sam?”

Sam only realized he was tilting a little where he stood when he blinked and tried to find his balance again. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Just…ready to get out of here.”

Dean’s eyes were on him again, though, and there was only worry in their depths. He began to speak, then stopped, then tried again. “Can you keep going?”

Sam stared. He didn’t think Dean had ever asked him that before. Told him to keep going, told him he could make it, but never actually _asked_. He wasn’t sure what it meant, what Dean thought of him. Was he as much of a burden as he thought he was, with a bum arm and an inability to move past a brother that hadn’t really been himself?

(Except it had been, it hadn’t been a possession so much as it had been Dean as a demon and he couldn’t think about that now.)

Laura glanced at him before turning to Dean. “Can you carry him? You don’t have to carry me, but I don’t know if you can actually lift him. He’s kinda taller than you.”

Sam found his lips turning up and even Dean snorted. “Uh, yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said dryly. “And no, there’s no way I can carry him. Help him walk, sure, but carrying’s been out of the question since he was a kid.”

Yeah, right. Like he hadn’t carried Sam out of numerous places when Sam had been left incapacitated with no way to get out. He’d carried Sam out of fires, from fights, from injuries, and who knew how many more situations. There were some that Sam knew he hadn’t been conscious for.

Dean had been there to carry him through. Sam needed to be there to help carry Dean through this.

He gave Dean a small smile but it was far stronger than it had been before. “I don’t know. I bet you could do it if you had to. I know I could.”

The surprise he got hurt a little but then Dean smiled, a genuine smile. “That’s because you’re really Bigfoot in disguise.”

Something creaked ahead of them and they both froze, hands going to their weapons. Sam realized that Dean had picked up the iron pipe and held it beneath his shotgun. “Laura, stay with Sam,” Dean ordered, then moved towards the door. He winced as he did so, and Sam got a really clear look at his brother since they’d headed down the hallway.

“Dean, your back,” he said faintly, and Dean turned and frowned.

“What? What about it?”

“You’re bleeding,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at him. “How can you not feel that?”

“Well, I didn’t until you said something,” Dean said, glaring at him. He grimaced now and rolled his shoulders, then hissed. Carefully Sam turned him around to get a better look.

Something like a piece of metal had gouged into his back and torn him up, but up close, there were pieces of wood embedded deep under the ripped jacket and shirt that were going to be hell to get out. And there was nothing Sam could do about it right now. “Can _you_ keep going?” Sam asked quietly. “Some of those are deep, Dean. I mean, they’re not near your spine, but…”

“I’ll be all right,” Dean insisted. “Seriously, it didn’t hurt until you said something.”

Sam bit his lip. “Dean—”

“I’m a little more worried about you right now,” Dean admitted. “You’re the one spacing out on me.”

“Just…tired,” Sam said again. “Haven’t gotten a lot of sleep recently.”

Too late did he realize what he’d confessed to, but it wasn’t like his nightmare hadn’t been on display for them both to see. Sam winced and tried to turn back to the door. Through the filthy window at the top, the hallway beyond looked in disrepair but was otherwise empty. “C’mon,” he said, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

He was barely in before Dean caught him by his good arm. His brother’s face was twisted in an emotion Sam couldn’t really understand. But he looked like he was gearing up to say something, and shit, Sam was pretty sure he knew what it was.

“Come on,” he said again, pulling away from Dean. “Laura, stay with us.”

“Are there more ghosts?” Laura asked.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm again, this time yanking him back out of the other hallway. “Hey,” Sam said, irritated now. “Dean, we’ve got to move.”

“I know that,” Dean said, but his face was full of that same emotion again. “Sam—”

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted out.

Dean froze. “What?”

“Fuck,” Sam swore, making Dean’s eyes even wider. “I said I’m sorry.”

It was clearly not what Dean had been expecting, if his face was any indication. “For _what_?” he finally asked.

It burned to say it, to admit to his not being able to trust Dean or apparently himself, to feel this rancid fear that was completely irrational and made him a crap brother. But Dean deserved an apology. “I should be past this,” he confessed. “I shouldn’t be affected by this because I _know_ you, I _know_ that wasn’t really you anymore than this ghost was back there. You’ve been able to get past so much with me and I can’t seem to do that for you and…and I’m sorry. You deserve better.” He bit his lip. “I know it’s hurting you.”

Dean looked like he’d been smacked by a two-by-four, which made Sam feel even worse. “I should’ve said it sooner,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Dean finally got out. “Sam, you don’t have a damn thing to be sorry _for_. I’m the one that came after you with a hammer.”

“You did?” Laura squeaked, eyes wide. “So it wasn’t just a nightmare?”

“It was my nightmare,” Sam said, or thought he said, but Dean had echoed him. He stared at Dean. Dean stared at him.

Wait. What?

“Your nightmare?” Sam asked. “But—"

Dean took a deep breath in, because yeah, okay, he could see it being Sam’s nightmare in the world’s worst way now, but he’d really figured it was his. “I could’ve killed you. You think you haven’t been sleeping? It’s all I dream about, me with black eyes coming after you, and I wake up ready to puke. You almost died because of me and that hammer. And you’re apologizing to _me_?”

“Well…yeah,” Sam said after a moment. “You’ve been trying to move on, tried to ignore it and usually I say you’ve got to talk it over—”

“Yeah, you do.”

“—but I’ve been trying to follow your lead on this and stay quiet but I just, I feel horrible because I can’t. And I’ve tried and I can’t.”

Dean stared and suddenly realized that Sam hadn’t looked away out of fear earlier – he’d looked away out of _shame_. “You’re ashamed that you can’t let this go? That’s it?”

Sam’s cheeks went red, lips turned down in misery. It was so unbelievable and yet—

And yet this was such a little brother thing to do. Feel like an abject failure because he thought he was supposed to be past trauma, be better than the trauma of your big brother turning on you and trying to kill you.

No. Not happening. “I hunted you down, I could’ve killed you,” Dean said, voice low and urgent and desperate for Sam to hear him. “You’ve got every right for it to be your nightmare, but it’s mine too. You hear me? I’m going to live that moment out over and over again as long as I live, and if anyone should be ashamed, it should be me for what happened. I almost killed the person I care about more than anything else.”

“It wasn’t really you,” Sam said, biting his lip. “It was like a possession.”

That, Dean would argue with until he was blue in the face, but they didn’t have the time. Still, one thing stuck out at him. “And stay quiet? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam shifted and winced when it jostled his shoulder. “I mean just, y’know. Give you your space. Not make a ton of noise. You’ve been silent since I got you back, so I was, too.”

Dean stared. “I haven’t said a damn thing because I figured all you could hear was me, and that was the last thing you needed to hear! You didn’t say anything either!”

“I didn’t know what to say!” Sam insisted, eyes wide. “You seemed eager to ignore it all and I was trying to follow your lead and let it go, the hell else was I supposed to do?”

Dean felt his mouth hang open, unable to comprehend that Sam had stayed silent because, what, he’d thought Dean had wanted the silence? All while Dean had done it for Sam?

Laura crossed her arms. “You guys are sort of stupid,” she said. “I know that’s sort of mean, but it’s the truth.”

A sob burst out of Sam, his face covered by his hand, but even as Dean stepped towards him, heart breaking, the hand dropped to reveal…a huge smile and barely-contained chuckles. As soon as Sam saw Dean staring he choked out another laugh and then couldn’t seem to stop.

The absurdity hit Dean about a second later and then the two of them were leaning against the walls, laughing uproariously, snickering and outright cackling and even coughing a time or two. Through it all, Laura just stared at them, but hey, at least she was looking at them like they were the massive problem, not the she-beast.

It was enough to curtail most of Dean’s hysteria, but only just. Sam wiped at his eyes, lips still turned upward. Better still, he was grinning at Dean, and there wasn’t a hint of fear in his face. Just amusement and even some fondness.

God he loved the kid.

Dean pushed himself away from the wall, feeling warm and strong and ready to take on ten haunted hotels. “Well, these two idiots are going to get you home. C’mon, kiddo.” He patted Laura on the head and grinned as she fussed at her hair. The relief was easy to read in her eyes. She’d been a trooper so far, and he was going to see it rewarded.

He patted Sam on the head too, as lightly as he could. “Goes for you too, kid. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“And get pizza?” Laura asked hopefully.

Sam shook his head with a smile. “Yeah, pizza. And a nap. I could sleep.”

“Yeah, same here.” Not that he’d be sleeping anytime soon but the idea was more than tempting. He wasn’t quite to the point of exhausted yet where adrenaline wouldn’t keep him awake – he knew what that was and it was far more terrifying than any ghost – but he could feel the fatigue bearing down on him all the same.

It made him think of Sam’s bleary-eyed weaving not ten minutes before. Sam was right: he hadn’t been sleeping well, he probably hadn’t been eating anything either, and he was nursing some serious injuries. He’d be keeping a closer eye on the kid.

And speaking up. Because apparently, Sam had started taking his whole, “No chick-flicks,” thing to heart a little too well. He’d suffer a lot of chick-flicks if it meant the kid would talk and not shy away like he thought Dean wanted it quiet.

He handed Sam the iron pipe and tucked Sam’s piece as far on the left side of the back of the kid’s jeans as he could get it. “Ready to wander a hall filled with possibly lots of ghosts?” Dean asked.

Sam’s lips turned up. “Yeah, why not.”

“Laura, stay between us,” Dean told her, then dug in his bag for more shells. More than a dozen left: good. His eyes drifted to the door as he reloaded. No one had come out since the death echo of the nurse, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more in there just waiting. “If we tell you to close your eyes and cover your ears—”

“Got it,” Laura said, voice small.

Pursing his lips, Dean kicked the door in.


	9. Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here

The hallway looked dark, not a single spark of light anywhere except from their flashlights. It looked like there’d been a carpet down but it was full of dirt and grime. Lights that reeked of the 60’s rested up near the ceiling, glass broken, light bulbs gone. The doors had numbers on them, but some of them were gone.

They’d actually made this into rooms for people to stay in. Unbelievable.

“These were the hotel rooms?” Sam whispered beside him. “ _That’s_ where they wanted people to stay? God.”

“Yeah, apparently.” What a mess. Even just one death echo should’ve been enough to send people scurrying, but they’d probably thought it was a dream come true, seeing a ghost over and over again. It’d probably seemed harmless, too.

A loud cry echoed around them, making both of them pull up their weapons. But the cry went farther and farther away until it choked off in a familiar gurgle. Dean winced and Sam looked sick. Yeah, they knew what that sound meant. Probably in one of the rooms, or maybe around the corner. Another ghost trying to outrun their demise.

How many death echoes could there possibly be here? They’d been going for _years_.

“Should I cover my ears yet?” Laura whispered.

“Not yet,” Sam told her, his eyes darting everywhere. “Let’s see if we can’t get through to the other side.”

“Where’s the exit?”

“Supposedly down this way – one of the required emergency exits.”

And that was if their leather-faced compatriot would let them out. Dean had to hope that they could weaken Gina's hold long enough to get them out of there. Then they could come back, bless the hell out of the building, and torch it. They were going to need angelic help to bless a building like this, but hopefully Castiel could lend a hand.

This probably wasn’t the break Cas had told him they needed. Oops.

A spirit suddenly came at them, eyes wide and crazed, hands outstretched, mouth twisted in a snarl. Dean didn’t think, just turned and fired, and it disappeared with a wail. Another one came alongside it, dressed in the same patient scrubs, and this time Sam swung out and caught it across the face with the iron pipe. The scream was angry as it faded.

Yeah, definitely some angry ones here that were looking for fresh blood.

“Ten bucks we’ve found some of the ghosts responsible for choking hotel guests,” Dean said.

Sam pinched his lips. “No bet.”

Dean glanced down at Laura who had her eyes squeezed tight and her hands over her ears. Gently he tugged one hand free, making her look up at him. “See? You did good,” he said.

“Can we go?” she asked. “Why can’t we just run?”

“Because I’ve got no clue what’s coming,” Dean told her. “Running’s my last option. Otherwise, we stay slow and quiet.”

She clearly didn’t like that answer. Not that he could blame her. But running without a plan was how people in horror flicks died. Hell, it was how a lot of civilians died in a hunt. And Laura was going home. Dean would give his life to make sure she got home safe and sound, and he knew Sam felt the same way.

He was just sort of hoping that it didn’t come to that.

They made it down the corridor without any other disturbances, though they heard a few shrieks from behind some of the closed doors. His fingers kept trembling on the shotgun’s trigger, and his nerves were far more rattled than he’d have liked. His pulse kept jumping at each scream, every wail.

Because somewhere, lurking in the halls, was his and Sam’s worst nightmare, and she was absolutely going to come back. Never mind the death echoes that were mostly a distraction, or the spirits that were maybe not echoes but really very active ghosts ready to string them up. They had their hands full with enough other things. The last thing they needed was Gina wearing Dean’s face.

And Hayes still hadn’t shown up again. Dean was sort of hoping that he wouldn’t.

The corner beckoned ahead of them, dark and foreboding. Dean held up his hand to keep the others back a bit, then slowly, carefully, stepped around the corner, shotgun aimed high.

Then froze, jaw dropping open.

At least ten spirits stood ahead of him, all motionless. Their heads were bowed before them and their arms limp by their sides. They seemed to hover over the floor, still, no sound or motion from any of them. Just hanging silently at the end of the hall.

“Dean?” Sam asked, hurrying forward, pipe up, only to stop and stare.

“Holy shit,” Dean mumbled. “Holy _shit_.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said faintly. “Dean, that’s…that’s the exit. The door behind them.”

Of course it was. Of _course_ it was. “Well, that’s not happening then,” Dean said, not even able to maintain a shred of fake cheer. “Guess we’re going back.”

Laura suddenly shrieked, making them whip around. Gina stood, leather all but shining on her face. She shifted violently into a clown with dark purple hair and bloody bulbous nose, then to Dean with his black eyes, then to—

Sam, head caved in, eyes bleeding and full of hatred.

Oh. Looked like it’d really been Sam’s nightmare before, after all. Because this was definitely Dean’s.

“You,” the not-Sam seethed. “ _You_. I _trusted_ you—”

Even as Dean took the emotional blow, heart shattering in his chest, even as he fought to breathe, Sam suddenly stepped in front of him, pipe up, eyes _blazing._ “Don’t you _dare_ ,” Sam bellowed. “Don’t you dare tell him that, because I’m still alive and it never happened. Don’t. You. _Dare_.”

The not-Sam stopped, then suddenly shifted back to Gina again. She tilted her head, watching him, then slowly began to smile. “One for you,” she said in a sing-song voice. “And for me, and one for brother Sammy.”

Then she shifted, and Dean’s eyes were all but dripping with black. “You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible?” the not-Dean said, and the tone, the voice, the inflection, Dean remembered it all. “I chose the King of Hell over _you_! Maybe I was just…tired of babysitting you. Or maybe…”

No. No, Dean wasn’t going to stand there and listen to it, wasn’t going to let Sam listen to it again, and goddammit, of course part of Sam’s worst nightmare had nothing to do with Dean trying to kill him and everything to do with Dean trying to cut him loose and blame him for Mom’s death. Dean brought the shotgun up – damn the number of shells left he didn’t give two shits anymore – and fired straight into his own head again.

The scream was all Gina as she faded away. Dean glanced at Sam and found him nowhere near the tower of fury he’d been. Now, he was pale and swallowing hard and looking like someone had killed a puppy in front of him.

He hadn’t looked that way when it had just been him alone with Dean, injecting the blood to heal him. He’d held it together damn well, but he’d left numerous times and Dean didn’t know what he’d been up to. Knowing Sam, melted down elsewhere, or probably called Cas. Wasn’t like Dean had asked what he’d done.

“Guys?” Laura said tremulously, and Dean glanced up at the shifting of movement down the hall. All of the spirits had their heads up to stare at them after the gunshot.

All of them had some horrible bloody line across their throat.

“Hung,” Sam said, already stepping away. “They were hung, those are rope burns, Dean—”

As one the spirits suddenly began walking towards them, feet still above the ground by a good distance, eyes dark and knowing, hands outstretched.

There was no going around them, no way to get past them. “Second exit, Sam,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. “And _go_!”

They took off running back down the hallway, past the hotel rooms. Dean’s breaths burned in his chest, the up and down of the adrenaline rushes taking their toll. That or the wood in his back, and god he really hoped one of them hadn’t gone through to his lungs. That was going to suck.

Another scream went up from a door to their right, making them jump towards the left as they hurried down the hall. The door was ahead of them, so close that Dean could see through the window and it was blessedly empty. He caught the handle and shoved hard.

The door didn’t budge. He landed against it with a grunt, shoulder feeling it hard. “What?” he whispered, stunned. “No, no, no no _no_ —”

“Open the door!” Laura shouted. “Hurry, they’re coming!”

“It’s locked,” Dean said. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t, not again. He glanced behind him and found the spirits rounding the corner, arms still outstretched, rope wounds bleeding down their chests and soaking their clothes. There were at least a dozen spirits, and even as he watched, the nurse death echo who’d run through the door earlier came barreling out of a room, screaming as she ran to repeat her death.

Then suddenly, she stopped. Dean froze, hand gripping the handle enough to feel it through his skin. “Is she,” Sam began, then stared.

The nurse glanced at the spirits to her right, and for a moment, Dean was sort of hoping for some form of a fight. A nurse was bound to have been in control enough to get rid of the patients, right? Or maybe the patients were what had chased and killed the nurse. They’d deal with each other.

The nurse turned away from the patients and instead stared right at them, and slowly her hands reached up towards them.

Like she was going to strangle them.

_Fuck_.

“In here!” Sam called, and Dean spun wildly towards the first doorway beside the main doors. Laura darted in after him and Dean took off running to bring up the rear. They were still walking, not running, but it was over a dozen spirits including a death echo that wasn’t echoing anymore.

Seriously, Dean was _done_ with hotels.

He slammed the door shut and felt it reverberate through his back. His neck actually started tingling and he winced against the sensation. Great; if the spirits didn’t kill him, the wood just might. Dean Winchester: felled by a splinter.

Somewhere, Crowley was laughing. He knew it.

Sam hurried up to him and Dean frowned until he realized that Sam was setting the iron pipe in front of the door. “All we’ve got,” Sam said.

“I could empty the shells out of salt,” Dean said, but Sam’s face said it all. Better to save them as actual shells. The only reason he’d empty them was if it meant creating a life-saving barrier between Laura and the spirits. And he had a feeling a salt circle would only hold them for so long.

He glanced around and then startled a little, because it wasn’t a room, it was a stairwell, only going down. And Laura was already partway down the small staircase. “Laura, stop!” Dean shouted, and Laura froze, foot hovering in the air above the next step. “We can’t go back down there!”

“We don’t have anything else we can do!” Sam said incredulously. “We can’t stay here, either!”

The basement was clearly Gina’s playground, but up here there were too many spirits to hold off. He didn’t have enough ammo to deal with them all before they’d come right back.

Dean glanced behind him at the door and found a small hole near the hinges. He crouched down and put his eye to the hole. It gave him a perfect view of the hallway.

And the dozen or so spirits waiting, hovering or standing, no longer reaching but just waiting.

“Crap,” Dean muttered. Sam nudged him aside and looked out through the hole.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sam muttered.

That about summed it up. Dean’s pulse threatened to explode out of his chest and he forced himself to take deep breaths. Anything to keep him off the edge of passing out or freaking out. And right now, he couldn’t afford to do either. Not when Sam was still willing to stand so close to him, almost shoulder to shoulder, like he wasn’t afraid of Dean. Like what Dean had said as a demon hadn’t cut him so clearly to the core.

As if Sam could hear his thoughts, he stepped away from Dean suddenly, decisively, and Dean inhaled sharply. Then Sam hurried away—

Down the steps. “Sam?” he called, afraid for a whole new reason. If Sam needed to get away from him that badly…

“I need to check the other door,” Sam told him. “Laura, get back up there with Dean. Tell me if there’s a change with the spirits.”

Oh. That was…yeah, that was more brains than Dean had at the moment. He needed alcohol. He needed caffeine.

He needed to not be trapped in another haunted hotel, a little girl and his little brother’s lives on the line.

The seconds passed like hours. Laura stood next to him, seeming to not care that she’d just seen him as a villain out there. Kid was going to need a psychiatrist when this was all over, but hey, at least she’d be breathing enough to get to a shrink, and where the hell was Sam? “Sammy?” he called.

No answer. Dean’s heart rate spiked immediately. “Sam?!” he shouted.

Laura gripped his wrist. “Do, do you, do you think sh-she got him?”

Oh god, no, this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t. He couldn’t take Laura back down there but he didn’t have a choice, he had to find Sam. “Just…just stay with me,” he ordered, and he headed for the stairs.

Something came out of the darkness of the stairwell and Dean swung his shotgun up before he realized that he knew that plaid and he knew that face. He dropped the shotgun like it had burned him and put a hand to his eyes. “Goddammit,” he mumbled.

“Are you guys okay?” Sam asked. “Dean? Are you all right? I kept calling from down there and no one answered.”

“We called for you and _you_ didn’t answer,” Laura said. “How far down is it?”

When Sam didn’t answer, Dean let his hand fall away to wipe at his face. Sam looked distinctly unhappy. “It’s ten stairs to the middle landing, then another ten down. That’s it.”

So not a physical silencing. That had everything to do with the spirits. “So, don’t wander off. Got it.”

Sam pinched his lips. “Sort of what I was thinking, yeah. There’s no way out down there, though. The door’s completely caved in and there’s a ton of rubble blocking the way. We’d be hours down there trying to dig our way out.”

Because today couldn’t get any better. “She probably won’t be able to come up that way, either,” Sam offered, but it was with the same exhaustion that Dean felt.

Laura shivered, rubbing at her arms. “Now what do we do?”

Without hesitating Dean set his shotgun down, pulled off his bag, and then tugged on the sleeves of his jacket. He wrapped it around her and then gave her the best smile he could. “Now? We wait.”

And pray that the spirits left, because it was their only way out.


	10. Love’s Full Sacrifice, He Offers in Another’s Enterprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how happy y'all are going to be happy with me after this chapter. Check the title of this chapter. Sorry not sorry.

The stairway seemed to echo with silence. The only thing bouncing off the walls was the beam of light from the flashlight. At least that had been working pretty well, so far. As powerful as Gina seemed to be, she hadn’t messed with their flashlights much. Maybe she was too busy shifting to bother with it.

Dean brushed his boot against the rubble he was sitting near. The shotgun had already been reloaded and rested on his lap. Laura sat with her legs crossed next to him, drawing random patterns into the dust. Across from them both, against the side farthest from the stairs, Sam sat, eyes blinking a lot every few minutes, iron bar in his lap. His brother looked stretched thin, thinner than he’d ever been before. No sleep, hardly eating, emotionally drained. The kid needed a break, and unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get one until they got out. Then…

Well. Then Dean was going to step up and start being the big brother he’d been too frightened (too ashamed, too worried) to be for too damn long. Starting with shoving food at Sam and then making sure he didn’t leave his bed for at least twelve hours straight.

His eyes drifted to Sam’s good hand tugging at the fraying threads on his sling. Screw it: he could start right now.

“So.”

Sam stopped pulling at the thread on his sling. Laura seemed to perk up a little, as if grateful to hear something besides the silence broken by intermittent screams. There hadn’t been as many of those lately, which just made the silence all the worse.

Dean cleared his throat. “What’d you really do to your arm?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure Sam was going to answer, but Dean had had to bully information out of Sam before, and he could do it again. He just sort of hoped that Sam would want to tell him.

Sam sighed and slumped a little. “I, um. I dislocated the shoulder.”

Dean shut his eyes. “I didn’t watch my back, like an idiot,” Sam continued, voice quiet. “I didn’t do any of it right. The demon came at me and…I don’t really remember much. I managed to get rid of it and get myself to the local ER. They told me to take it easy, said it wasn’t bad enough for surgery.”

He’d known the sprained elbow story was bunk but he hadn’t known how bad it’d really been. A dislocated shoulder shouldn’t have taken so long to heal, which meant Sam had probably skipped out too early, too soon. Wasn’t like Dean had been there to ensure the doctors did what they needed to, or run interference on both sides until Sam had been properly discharged.

Sam gave a snort, and Dean looked up to see far more self-loathing on Sam’s face than he’d seen in a while. “I should’ve had it. I shouldn’t have had my ass handed to me. But I…I did it all wrong. The fact that I’m alive at all for how stupid I was is sort of a miracle, I guess.” He yawned then, like he couldn’t help it, and shook his head.

In between his words was the truth he wouldn’t say. _You weren’t there._ He’d hunted like he’d had a partner and he’d been on his own. Dean knew: he’d gotten tossed around pretty badly the first few months after Sam had gone to Stanford. Or in Purgatory, until he’d found Benny.

“Demons?” Laura asked, and Dean froze. Sam looked far more awake now, eyes wide in realization. “Not just ghosts?”

Crap. Crap shit _fuck_. “Demons are sort of like ghosts,” Dean hedged. “They take over people, make their eyes go black, make them…make them hurt the people they love.” No one had made him come after Sam. He’d done that all on his own.

“People under demonic influence aren’t themselves.”

Slowly Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam’s gaze. Sam looked resolute which, given the fact that the kid looked ready to fall over, was pretty impressive. “Possessions of _any_ sort do terrible damage to everyone. Sometimes the possession comes in different forms. Like…like drinking something bad.” Sam swallowed but kept going. “It’s like an infection, and it takes over. But people can get better. They can get back to themselves.”

Dean found his eyes burning and there was a lump in his throat that he wasn’t going to be able to push down. It was acknowledgement, _I’ve been there and I get it,_ along with forgiveness, _I’m still here and I’m going to stay here,_ all in one. And it was more than he deserved but god help him, he wasn’t going to pass it up.

It wasn’t just about him here, either. “It doesn’t happen right away, for anyone,” Dean said, and Sam’s eyes cut to the side. “The getting back to themselves. When demons get involved, a lot of people get hurt. And it’s okay if everyone’s not okay for a while. They’ll get better. It just takes time. And that’s okay.” _You have fuck-all to be ashamed about, Sammy. I screwed you. But we’re going to be okay._

They had to be.

“So…that’s what it’s called. A possession?”

Dean glanced at Laura. Sam seemed to be eyeing her the same way. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Laura shrugged. “You said black eyes. Not being yourself. Hurting people you love. That’s a possession?”

“Laura, have you seen someone with black eyes before?” Sam asked quietly.

She bit her lip but nodded. “My, um, my mom. They said she got really sick, that it made her act crazy and mean, but…she had black eyes. And this woman, a sheriff, she came and made Mom barf up this nasty black stuff. And then my mom was okay. Tired and achy like the flu for a few days, but okay. Mom and Dad, they don’t…they don’t like to talk about it. But I always knew something was weird about it.”

That would’ve been what Martin and Diane had tried to shield her from. “Yeah, that sounds like a possession,” Dean said. “Like we said, a demon takes over and controls the person.”

“And it’s not the fault of the person being controlled,” Sam said firmly. “They didn’t ask to be possessed. The demon just jumps in.”

Laura’s shoulders came down a little at that. “So my mom’s still a good person, right?”

“Absolutely,” Dean agreed. She brightened at that and gave him a small smile, which fizzled out a moment later into the first real sign of tears he’d seen. “You okay?” he asked, gentler now.

Laura’s face screwed up. “I’m so tired,” she finally confessed in a small whisper. “And I want my mom and my dad.” She sniffled and wiped at her face, mostly succeeding in sending more dirt and dust across her face.

Sam cursed, making Dean whip his head up to his brother, but it was to see setting the iron bar aside. “Sam—”

“Cover us both,” Sam said tightly, and he gathered Laura up with his good arm, tossing Dean’s jacket back at him. She clung to him, being careful to avoid his bad arm. Sam managed to reach past her and catch the iron bar again, and he handed it up to Laura to keep. “We’ll move faster if I just carry her.”

No, they wouldn’t, because Laura wasn’t the only one exhausted. Sam was flagging and visibly so in a way that Dean had never really seen on a hunt. Then again, Sam hadn’t been anywhere close to 100% before the hunt had started, either. And he was looking at a reinjured shoulder (badly dislocated, like this wasn’t a crapfest already), a bruised body, and who knew what else. Probably a concussion, too.

But Sam had his lips pursed into a thin line, and Dean knew when to give in. “You have to stop, _tell me_ ,” Dean stressed. Sam nodded tightly.

Fuck it. They were getting the hell out of there. He glanced out of the tiny hole again and couldn’t see the spirits. Now or never, and who the hell knew where they were. He didn’t care. All he cared about was the guy who was fighting to stay with Dean even after everything and literally giving it his all.

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean glanced back. Sam gave a crooked smile. “Thanks,” Sam said quietly. “For…just, thanks.”

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you,” Dean said, and Sam’s smile got a little stronger. He’d walk through hellfire again if he had to if it meant keeping Sam safe. He was getting Sam out, and he was doing it now.

He swung the door open and glanced out into the hall. It was empty. He moved swiftly to the other door and found that the handle gave once more, the door opening easily. The next hallway looked empty too. “Let’s go. Next exit,” Dean called. “Left or right?”

“Right’s a long way down,” Sam told him, already sounding breathless. “I mean, the left’s a ways down too, but the right’s way, _way_ down. I can’t guarantee we’ll have any luck there, and we’ll have to come back all this way then.”

Left took them west to the entrance and the west wing. “Any exits in the west wing?”

Sam stared at him. “We’ve been trying to desperately _avoid_ the west wing. Remember Hayes?”

“Yeah, well, not like we’ve got a lot of other options.”

“What about the front door?”

“What about it? There’s sort of not a floor there, Sam. And she’s going to be waiting.”

“I can deal with her,” Sam said firmly. “I think the front door’s our best bet.”

With no floor to get there. Dean had dealt with worse. “Left it is,” he said, and they flew, down the hallway past numerous rooms, broken glass shards threatening to trip them up. His gun stayed hot in his hands as they went, bag brushing against the wood in his back and making fresh blood trickle down in a nauseating pattern. He swallowed past it and focused on one foot in front of the other.

They were getting out of there one way or another.

They passed the broken filing cabinets, paper everywhere, and it made his stomach churn again. Someone had looked at those files and thought, “Gee, this place is perfect for a hotel.” Dean sort of hoped whoever it was had slithered into a hole when the hotel had crashed and burned. Numerous people had been strangled, and others had died from heart attacks.

Heart attacks. By being scared out of their wits by their most intimate of nightmares. Gina had taken out a few people, as much as Hayes and the spirits had.

They got to the main hallway without issue, and Dean wasn’t about to question their good luck. His eyes spun around, flashlight trying to track any movements. The area remained quiet and dark, save for their panting breaths. Sam’s sounded pained, and Dean glanced behind him to where Sam wasn’t just panting, he was gasping, face almost stark white. Laura looked a little more invigorated thanks to their running, but she still looked tired.

Sam was completely gassed, though, and Dean reached over and took Laura, helping her down. She kept the iron bar locked in her grip, and Dean found his lips turning up. His back flared at the abuse and he hissed in a sharp breath. Yeah, it was past time to leave. Sam made a face but Dean just shook his head. Not his fault.

They moved down the hallway slower now, making their way towards the doors. Dean could see the opening up ahead, where the stairs and the doors were waiting. That meant they could get out of there in as little as two minutes if they could reach the doors.

Another scream resounded around them, making Laura cry out and Dean turn. A frightened nurse came at them before she reached for her throat, choking, falling to the ground and dying, eyes wide and terrified. She flickered once, twice, then disappeared.

It was only when his ribs hurt that he realized his heart was out of control, pounding against his ribcage, and his shotgun was out in front of him, instinct having taken over when the rest of him couldn’t. God but he was so _done_ with this place. He was coming back with Castiel, blessing it, and then helping Sam burn it to the ground.

And he was going to chat with Crowley about making sure certain individuals associated with the asylum were rotting in Hell.

“Dean.”

Dean glanced behind him to where Sam stood, Laura clinging to him, face buried in Sam’s right side. Sam looked pale and sick, eyes where the nurse had been. “We have to go,” Sam said. “Almost out.”

Almost wasn’t there; in this instance, almost just wasn’t good enough. “Yeah we do,” Dean said, and he nudged them further down the hall.

The main entryway looked much as it had numerous hours ago: stairs, no other doors to speak of except for the two big doors leading in and out. The floor between them and the doors was completely gone, leading down to where they’d dropped in. The edges of the floor weren’t even enough to walk on, and it was far too long to jump. Even if they managed to get to the stairs, they’d never make the jump from there either.

It took too long for the reality to poke through Dean’s brain. They couldn’t go out this way. They’d never make it.

The front door on the left hung ajar, taunting them, and Dean could smell some of the fresh breeze from outside wafting through. They were _so close_ and it wasn’t going to work.

“The floor’s gone,” Laura said, sounding stunned. “What, what happened to it? How are we going to get there?”

Plan…O? P? What the hell plan were they on anymore? “Any chance we can use the elevator?” Dean asked. He wasn’t exactly thrilled by it but if it meant getting them out, sure, he was all for trying it.

“Haven’t seen lights on in a while,” Sam whispered. “Doubt it works. We can try.” He didn’t sound particularly enthused about it, though.

Fine: plan X. Or plan W. Whatever. “We’ll drop through,” Dean said firmly. “We’ll drop into the room and then climb back out. Only option.” And the salt below would help keep Laura safe while they figured out how to get each other up there. “There were a handful of shelves down there, I think—”

An inhuman growl went up, louder and louder until Dean’s very bones were vibrating. Laura’s hands went to her ears and Dean winced against the sound. Only when it cut off could he see the source, and his stomach tightened.

White coat, dark beard scraggly and out of control, eyes red and yet fathomless, and a filthy mouth open in a horrific snarl as he stood in front of them. Hayes.

“ _You,_ ” he hissed. “ _You!”_

Then he came at them, claw-like hands reaching straight in front of him.

“ _Run_!”

Dean’s scream was enough to galvanize them, even if Hayes coming at them didn’t. Dean only paused long enough to fire a shot straight at Hayes, double barrels filling him full of rock salt.

Hayes flickered briefly, then continued charging.

“Holy _shit_ ,” and Dean took off after Sam and Laura. Sam had a hell of a lead already, heading back down the hallway they’d come down, but Laura was fast on his heels. Behind them, Hayes let out another animalistic howl, sending the very hairs on the back of Dean’s neck straight up.

Sam swung into the hallway and then came to a stuttered halt, eyes wide. “Go!” Dean shouted. “Sam, go!”

“Go back,” Sam whispered. “Go back!”

_What_?

Sam spun Laura around and raced back down the hallway towards Dean, and then Dean saw it: the herd of ghosts hovering over the floor, moving towards them fast.

They were trapped.

He saw it the same time Sam did: the door off to the side, off its hinges. “Go!” Dean shouted and Sam dove in, Laura right beside him. Dean fired another shot behind him and heard Hayes shriek. Why wasn’t salt working?

He needed more rounds, he needed more shells, he needed more _time_. He couldn’t load with the bag up on his shoulder.

He hurried into the room and nearly ran into Sam. Sam caught him with his good arm and kept Dean from tumbling down into inky darkness. Most of the floor was gone, broken at one edge and sloped down into the basement room below. A metal door waited below, no windows, one huge-ass latch to keep it shut.

They’d passed doors like that in the basement. This had to be one of them. They could get back to the entryway and they could get _out_.

Out in the hallway, Hayes let out another scream, and this time there was a guttural choking to answer it, and it sounded angry. “Let them eat each other,” Dean snapped. “But we’re not staying to watch.”

He threw the bag down ahead of him and slid down the wooden floor. His back screamed and he almost missed landing, stumbling to one of his knees before he managed to push himself back up. His legs shook but he turned his focus to Laura and Sam. “Come on!”

“Laura, go,” Sam said, and she squeezed her eyes shut and sat down sled-style to go down. Dean caught her at the bottom, making her squeak, and then Sam came down, half-sliding, half-running. Dean managed to catch him across the chest which was sure to be doing Sam’s arm and ribs no favors, but it was better than the kid going head-first into the concrete wall. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean said.

The room around them lit up. Dean froze, cursing at himself, because of course there was only one ghost that hadn’t shown up yet in all of the fuckery of the upstairs mess. Gina.

The room seemed to transform before them. Boxes and shelves flickered away and then there was a single metal table with huge leather straps running all across it. The lights were too bright, too cold, and a machine behind the table whirred to life.

Dean didn’t want to know what it did.

It flickered back out with the lights and then it was just boxes and shelves and a broken, sloped floor. “Everything experimental happened down here,” Sam whispered, horrified. “The lobotomies, the puncturing, all of it—”

Yeah, Dean really didn’t want to hear about what Sam had read in the files. “Through the door, now,” Dean said, and they hurried. The door was heavy with age and rusty to boot, and Dean grabbed hold and heaved with his whole might. It began to creak open, slowly, too slowly, and Dean tossed the shotgun aside. “You better be loaded with iron,” he told Sam. “Salt did jack-shit on Hayes.”

“It _what_?”

Another shriek from above. They were getting louder. Whoever won the brawl, Dean didn’t want to face the victor. “Get the shotgun loaded too for the other ghosts!”

Sam immediately dove for the bag, single hand fumbling with the shotgun. “Which ones?” Laura asked, racing around Sam to start digging in the bag. “Which ones do you need?”

“Those, right there, all you can give me!”

The door gave a little bit more; almost enough to shove Laura through, if he had to. Dean took a deep breath and then heaved with all of his might. It opened another two or three inches. “Come _on_ ,” he growled.

This door was the only thing between them and getting out, he could feel it. And now, they were trapped down there with barely any ammo that was doing damage, almost a dozen ghosts upstairs, and what looked to be a fairly powerful poltergeist because why not?

They weren’t going to die down here. He wasn’t going to let Sam die down here.

With a yell born of rage Dean threw everything into the next pull and the door finally slid back and open. The rusted track moved smoothly, and Dean panted, feeling it in his hands and arms.

Sam pumped the shotgun once with one hand and tossed it over to Dean, who barely managed to catch it. He’d be feeling that one for a while more. “Six shots in there, four here,” Sam said, handing them over this time. All the remaining shells went in Dean’s pocket.

More than enough to do what they needed to do. They were getting out. He ducked his head into the hallway and shone the flashlight around. Nothing: the hallway was empty. “Clear. _Move_.”

Sam wasted no time, racing ahead with his own light, Laura right behind him. Dean followed up on the rear, glancing back just in time to see the group of spirits standing over the edge of the sloped floor. One began to float above the floor and then suddenly flickered out. A moment later, he reappeared feet from the door.

_Shit_. Dean spun around and fired straight at him, making him disappear. Above them, however, the other ghosts were flickering, and they’d be down in a minute.

He grabbed at the door’s edge and began pulling it closed. It slid easier now, at least, and it shut with a bang, only to recoil slightly. Dean reached for the latch and found rusted holes where the handle would’ve been. There was nothing to grab on this side: it was a single sheet of metal, and it wasn’t iron.

He wasn’t going to be able to keep it shut.

“Dean!”

“It won’t hold!” he yelled back. “I can’t hold the door shut!”

“Then just come on!”

But he didn’t have enough shells to hold the ghosts off long enough to get them out. Not unless he could stop them here.

The door flung open revealing another two ghosts, arms aimed at his neck, and Dean fired once, making them both disappear. More were coming, though.

He glanced over at where Sam had stopped, Laura right beside him. Both of them stood, fear in their eyes, but they were waiting for him. Sam was always waiting for him, always willing to give it all even if it wound up killing him.

It only took a split second, but really, it had never been a choice at all.

Dean swung the bag off his shoulder, grabbed the additional piece loaded with iron rounds out of it, and threw the rest of the bag down the hallway to Sam. “I’ll hold them,” he said. “There’s a latch on the other side, I can keep it shut. Get both of you out.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “No,” he whispered, horrified. “Dean, _no_!”

“Get the hell out of here!” Dean shouted, and another ghost came up. The third round went through her head, sending her out. Three left in, four in his pockets.

“I’m not leaving you!” Sam cried, and Dean glanced back one more time. Sam had tears in his eyes and was straining forward towards him, and Dean suddenly knew he wasn’t going to leave. Not unless Dean took the choice out of his hands.

He flung himself back into the room. “Dean, _no_!”

“ _Go_!” Dean screamed, and he slammed the door shut. The latch fell into place, and then it was just him and the spirits.

Sam would get out. Laura would get out. And at the end of the day, that was all Dean wanted.

One ghost actually dared to growl at him. “Eat this, bitch,” Dean snarled, and he fired off the fourth round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. I'll make it better?


	11. He Today That Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother

Even before Sam could move forward, even before he could do anything except stare at the door that Dean had slammed shut behind him, the wall in front of them blew in. Laura screamed and ducked away, and Sam stumbled backwards. The dust was enough to make him choke and cough, and when he could see again, eyes watering, it was to the worst sight he’d ever seen.

The concrete wall beside them was mostly toast, the remains covering the hallway and blocking the door. The hallway was completely closed off, and there was no way to get to the door.

Screams from the other side didn’t sound like Dean, but a hand tugging at Sam’s reminded him that he had to go. They needed to leave. “Sam, please,” Laura whispered, and Sam swallowed hard.

He had to get Laura out. He had to.

Numb fingers closed around the handles of the bag. Laura shifted her grip to his jacket and tugged at him, and they moved down the hallway together. Another scream echoed somewhere behind them, muffled, and the clear sound of a shotgun went off. Sam flinched and forced himself to keep going.

They made it down the hallway without incident and stepped into the room. The white salt still lay on the floor, forming a sort of half-circle near a shelf alone the wall beneath the doors. There was a hint of light coming through the crack in the door above them, a result of the moon lighting up the night. It felt like hope.

It should’ve felt like hope, at least. All Sam wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die.

“In the salt,” Sam said quietly. “You, you need to stand in the salt. Spirits shy away from salt.”

Laura moved quickly, hurrying into the salt, and Sam realized he was craning his ears for any hint of Dean. Any sound that said Dean was still fighting for his life, blocking the way and giving them a chance to get out safely.

He’d walked away from Dean numerous times in his life but never like this. Never when Dean truly needed him.

“Sam?”

Laura stood in the salt circle, watching Sam with a frown on her face. “Sam?”

The bag dropped from his numb hands to the ground. He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t. Every step he took away from Dean burned inside of him, and he found his breath hitching.

“…Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam raised his gaze and found the world blurred. He blinked and tears trailed down his face. Laura looked nine types of worried and almost scared, and he hated to scare her, he did, but he couldn’t control the heartache inside of him. Being chased by Dean with black eyes had hurt less.

He’d been so wrong about what his worst nightmare was, in the end.

“This is it,” he whispered, voice trembling. “This, this is it. My worst nightmare. Me without Dean.”

He was leaving Dean behind again, just like he had so many times before. It didn’t matter that Dean had ordered him to leave, shouting at him to go. It didn’t make this easier at all.

Someone else screamed in the hallway beyond them, a high-pitched fearful scream that died off not long after. Sam shuddered and glanced behind them, waiting for another spirit, but nothing came through the door. There was probably too much salt in the room for a ghost to make its way inside unless it was really powerful, like Gina or Hayes.

“We need to go,” Laura said, tentatively now. “He, he told us to go, Sam. We’re almost there.”

The doorway hung above them, one door hanging ajar and providing some air from the outside. Sam swallowed and nodded, but his feet wouldn’t work. He couldn’t move himself forward.

He couldn’t leave Dean.

Slowly he let out a shaking breath, and when he took his next one in, it was sharp and full of determination. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , leave Dean behind. Not for anything.

Let Gina wear his brother’s face with black eyes again, let her spit out the words that Sam still heard while he slept. He’d heard a lot of condemning words from Dean over the years. He’d thrown a few at Dean, too.

And Dean wasn’t a black-eyed club member anymore, he was Dean again, he was the brother that Sam had begged to have back. He’d wept over his brother’s broken body too many times, and the last time was still just as much a part of his nightmares as Dean chasing him through the bunker. Losing Dean was something he couldn’t do.

Because at the end of the day, there was one thing that Dean had said that spoke louder than anything else.

_“I’m proud of us.”_

The sound of his brother’s last breath was never going to stop tearing into Sam’s soul. Getting Dean back was all that had mattered, and all that still mattered. The Mark hung above them, waiting to cut them down.

Not if Sam had anything to say about it.

_“I’m proud of us.”_

So was Sam.

Pursing his lips, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Take it.”

Laura gave him a frown but did, placing it in her purse. “Are you worried about it falling out?”

Sam didn’t answer, just put his good out hand out. “Foot in. C’mon, let’s get you out.”

She was hardly any weight at all, but he was tired enough that it still took everything he had to shove her up high enough to reach the next floor. Finally, though, Laura clambered up, and then she was out, the door creaking as she got outside. Something inside of Sam settled, but it wasn’t enough. Because someone was still missing.

Not in a minute.

“There’s rope here,” Laura called. “If I put some down, can you climb up? Sam?”

“Get out of here,” Sam told her. “Take my cell phone and—”

“I’m not leaving without you!” Laura cried. “Sam, no, don’t make me!”

“—and call your parents,” Sam continued, gritting his teeth. “They’ll come get you.”

“Where are you going?!”

Sam didn’t say anything. Every second he stood and argued with her was another second Dean was alone. He’d wasted enough time as it was.

Laura stared at him, then quickly pulled at something. A second later, her purse dropped down next to him. “Go get Dean,” she said. “I’ve got your phone. I’ll get help.”

Something warm flooded through him, and his eyes welled a little because goddamn he was proud of her. “You’re amazing,” Sam said, and Laura gave him a big smile.

“I know. My mom tells me all the time.”

Sam snorted a wet laugh and picked up the purse. Everything helped. He grabbed the strap and wrapped it around his wrist, pulled his gun out from the back of his jeans, then aimed his flashlight back into the darkness. Nothing.

Sam set his jaw and took off.

The hallway was similarly empty, but a scream resounded behind him, and he didn’t even turn around, just kept going. His ribs protested the pace and his arm ached, but he just pushed himself forward. His stomach churned and this was so much like when he’d run and hid from Dean in the bunker that for a moment, he stumbled in his steps. The scream got louder, and all he could hear was Dean yelling for him, voice echoing through the bunker.

No.

_No_.

He spun around, gun up, teeth bared in fury. The spirit bore down on him, some patient with a wild look in their eyes, and Sam pulled the trigger. The spirit disappeared with a wail, and then Sam took off again. There had to be another room that would let him up. He started kicking doors open, scanning each one. Empty shelves, rotted cardboard boxes—

There, a floor letting in some faint light from above, and the shelving right where he needed it. He fought his way up, panting for breath by the time he reached the top, and he wasn’t at all surprised when the wild-haired patient with the knife greeted him in the room above. She didn’t get so much as a footstep inside before Sam loosed bullet number two.

Silence again. He forced himself to his feet and moved out to the main hallway.

Down the hallway, he could see the stairs and the big hole in front of the door, and he couldn’t hear anything from that way. He resisted the urge to check on Laura and instead moved around the corner, carefully glancing around first to see who was waiting for him.

The crew of hung ghosts were gone. It let him slide around to the door he needed and creep into the room.

The floor was as broken as he remembered, looking less steep than when they’d raced down it a little while ago. Gina wasn't there, and Hayes was nowhere to be seen once more. The room was deathly silent, and Sam froze for half a second, terrified that he was too late, that he was going to haul a body out after all and it wasn’t going to be Laura, it was going to be Dean in his arms again.

Then he caught sight of a dull beam of light, and his heart leapt in his chest. _Dean_.

There, down by the door, back against it and legs still braced to keep it shut, stood Dean. His eyes were on the ground but he was alive, if the way he was swinging the flashlight around was any indication. In his other hand was the shotgun.

Relief hit Sam so hard his knees buckled, and he stumbled as he crossed to the top of the broken floor. They were going to get out. _All_ of them.

“Dean!”

Dean startled, glancing up at him. “ _Sam_?”

“Take my hand,” Sam said. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

“Where the fuck is Laura?”

“Out, with my phone. She’s safe.”

“Why aren’t you out with her?”

Sam glared at him. “Quit asking stupid questions. Let’s just go.”

He didn’t get a glare back. He got resignation. “You should’ve gone. Dammit, Sam—”

“I’m not leaving without you! So you have two options: we can both stay here and probably die, or we can get out. Your choice. And I told you before, I will _always_ come back for you.” Even when it would possibly cost him his life, he’d always come for Dean. He’d give up his life if that meant keeping his brother safe.

Dean didn’t seem to know what to do with that, but he’d moved away from the door at least, up towards the broken floorboards. Sam knelt as much as he could, winced, and reached his hand down. “Come on; I only met up with two ghosts so we’re probably going to have the rest of them sooner rather than later.”

“You shouldn’t have come back,” Dean said, but he was slowly climbing the broken planks. His face had another set of scratches on it, and he wasn’t moving all that fast. But he was alive and that was all Sam cared about. “The last thing I need is for me to actually get you killed.”

“You’re not going to get me killed.”

“Sammy—”

And that was it. “I’m safer with you than without you. That hasn’t changed. Don’t let it change,” he pleaded, eyes burning. “Don’t let this tear us apart, not after everything. Dean, please.”

Dean looked like he’d swallowed nails. “I tried to kill you—”

“No, you didn’t. It wasn’t you. Was it really me with the demon blood?”

“No,” Dean said without hesitation. “I just…I can’t help you. Because I’m the problem.”

He reached out and caught Dean’s hand, and Dean made his way up to join Sam. Sam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding once Dean stood beside him. Dean’s own shoulders seemed like they came down a little.

They were always better together.

“You scared me,” Sam finally admitted, feeling like he was confessing the worst sin he’d ever committed. Dean shut his eyes tight for a moment, and Sam clutched at Dean’s jacket because this was important. “I, I can’t say that you didn’t, all right? But I know that it wasn’t my big brother. And it’s not my worst nightmare, not by a long shot. This?” And he choked on the words. “Leaving you behind, being alone? _That’s_ my worst nightmare. So don’t leave me alone. I can’t do it.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “C’mon, Sammy. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Sam said emphatically, and Dean grinned.

His next breath came out in a mist. As one they turned to the door and immediately pulled up their weapons. The hung ghosts stood, swaying above the floorboards, eyes glued to them. “Is the door down there any option?” Dean asked. “I thought I jammed it pretty hard but—”

“Something tore down a good portion of the opposite wall,” Sam said, shaking his head. “No way out that way.”

“Well then,” Dean said, and he raised the gun and fired.

Immediately the ghosts came forward, hands raised towards them. Two full rounds from Dean and bullets three through five from Sam were enough to send them packing, but their eyes were filled with anger as they screamed. They’d be back, sooner rather than later.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be around to deal with them.

They tore down the hallway where Sam dragged them into the room with the metal shelving heading down. “Wait, wait, let me go first,” Dean said in a rush, and he all but fell down the shelves. “C’mon Sammy, let’s go—”

A howl behind Sam made him turn, and instinct had him pulling the trigger before his eyes had even fixed on the patient with the knife. They were coming back faster. Too fast. “That was one of the ghosts I dealt with,” Sam said, eyes wide. “Dean, they’re coming back faster.”

“Then get _down_ here! Let’s go!”

Sam tossed the gun down below to free his good hand and started making his way down. Firm hands caught his legs and guided his feet, taking as much care as Dean could to keep Sam from banging his bad arm much more. Once on the ground, Sam retrieved his gun and then they were hurrying down the basement hallway.

It seemed infinitely longer to cut through the darkness again. The hallway didn’t seem to end, but Sam knew it was barely up ahead. Why weren't they making any ground? Why couldn't they find the room?

Gina. She was keeping them there, distorting reality again, shifting the world around her to suit her.

Sam stopped in the middle of the corridor, making Dean nearly run into him. “What’s wrong?” Dean asked immediately. “I’m out of shells and you’re out of shots, we’ve got to move!”

“Just…trust me,” Sam said, and he pulled Laura’s purse up and smacked it against the wall to his left.

A massive shriek filled the air, making them both wince and reach for their ears, but the hallway suddenly got drastically shorter, and there on the left was a door. The door to the exit.

“Nice,” Dean said proudly, and they ran inside. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“You found him!”

Both of them glanced up. Laura’s head peeked over the edge, eyes bright. “I told you to get out of here!” Sam exclaimed.

“And I told you I wasn’t going to leave you,” Laura said, scowling. “Tough.”

Sam’s next breath came out misty again. Shit. “Here,” and he held his hand out again. “On three. One, two—”

Dean set his foot in and jumped up with Sam helping to boost. Dean managed to crawl up and over the edge, and the door swung out. He was out. Two out, one to go.

Immediately Dean stuck his head back over. Sam handed the bag up and Dean made a face but took it. “I don’t care about the bag, you asshole, I care about _you._ Running start, you can do it,” Dean encouraged. “Come on, Sammy.” He held his hand down as far as he could reach.

“Hurry!” Laura shouted. “She’s going to come back!”

On a normal day, the height wasn’t a difficult thing to jump. Today wasn’t a normal day, but Sam was determined to make it. He backed up enough to give his legs room to run, and then he pushed against the ground, eyes on Dean’s hand. His feet felt like lead but he was almost dizzy with adrenaline, and the wall was right there. He punched one leg up to give him some extra height, and his left hand collided with Dean’s. Dean’s fingers frantically dug at his wrist as Sam tried to hold on.

It wasn’t enough.

With a yell Sam slid back down and landed, hard, on his right shoulder. The world whited out for a moment, and when he finally came back to himself, it was to something emerging out of the darkness. He could hear Dean shouting above him, Laura screaming, but all Sam had eyes for was the figure coming at him, lurking towards him with predatory steps.

Gina, wearing Dean’s face, eyes black as the darkness around them.

He forced himself to sit up, to move, to do _anything._ The specter of his brother came forward, black eyes wide and grin wider still. The leather was hidden in shadow but he could still see it, he could, this wasn’t Dean, it wasn’t, it-

The hammer swung at him and he stumbled backwards, almost jarring his shoulder again. “C’mon Sammy,” not!Dean called. “Let’s _play_.” The hammer came up.

A loud clanging made Sam flinch away, hiding behind his good arm. When he finally realized he hadn’t been struck, he carefully pulled back his arm.

Two legs blocked most of his view. He could still see the shifter, the spirit flickering between his demonic brother and Gina’s spirit. Sam followed the legs up to a person he knew well, boots firmly planted between Sam and Gina. In his hand was the iron bar, pointed straight at Gina.

“Back off, bitch,” Dean growled. “And quit using my face.”

Relief flooded through him and Sam slumped back towards the ground. “You think you’re going to, what, scare us with our worst nightmares?” Dean kept going. “You’re missing by a mile. Because I’m not turning on my brother, not now, not ever again. And he’s not dying anytime soon. So kiss my ass and wear your own damn face. Because the only thing you’re making me do when I see my own mug is fill you full of iron.”

Even before Sam could say anything, even as the demonic version of Dean flickered and shifted back to Gina, a howling shriek went up, loud and angry around them, and Sam froze. He knew that sound. And he knew what it meant.

Hayes had come.


	12. Princes to Act and Monarchs to Behold the Swelling Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big finale.

Slowly Hayes stepped out of the shadows, eyes red and deep, beard as wild as the rest of him. His coat had a stain on it now, Sam realized, and it looked like blood. Pinprick holes were tattooed into his neck, a perfect example of how he’d ultimately and clearly died.

And in his hand was the leather strap, waiting to claim another victim.

Dean’s fingers tightened around the iron bar and Sam desperately tried to get to his piece with the iron rounds, where was his gun? Where was _anything_?

Back up with Laura, of course it was, and he wasn’t going to ask a child to pull out loaded weapons. That meant the bag behind, the ripped bag that they’d left behind. Who knew what Dean had left in it.

It was only then that he realized Gina had disappeared. Sam didn’t blame her: Hayes was by far the most frightening thing in the asylum. More than the ghosts who’d been hung, more than the death echoes, more than Gina herself. All of them hadn’t been evil before they’d died, not really, but Hayes had been vile through and through before he’d been killed.

Hayes made his way forward and Sam scrambled to get up. Dean had a single iron pipe to his name and Sam still had his gun, as his tailbone reminded him of non-too-gently. Otherwise they had no other way to get rid of him—

Sam froze. Yes they did. _Yes they did._

“Laura!” he shouted hoarsely. “ _Laura_!”

Frightened eyes peered out over the broken ledge. “The box in the bag! The, the wooden box in the bag!”

Hayes was almost close enough to catch Dean but his brother wasn’t giving any ground. Any step back would put him on top of Sam and of course he couldn’t back up and hit Sam, he had to protect him, and Sam needed that kit _now_.

Dean swung out with a yell, and Sam watched Hayes take the blow straight across the face and flicker out. A moment later, he was back.

Sam stared. Dean let out expletives that he hoped Laura wouldn’t repeat but seriously? Why wasn’t it working? It was like he wasn’t a ghost at all. Every spirit responded to iron, even the worst of the poltergeists. So how could Hayes not react to iron _or_ salt?

A moment later, the box landed next to him. “Get out of here!” Sam shouted above him, grabbing the box and tearing it open.

“But—”

“Laura, _go_!” Dean hollered behind him, swinging at Hayes again. Hayes rose up with a roar, strap in his hand, and Dean ducked but stayed where he was.

“Dean, move!” Sam scrambled to get the pieces out. Candle, herbs, oils, blade, bowl. “Move!”

“No!”

“Dean!”

“Get it done, Sam!”

“He’s not acting like any other ghost, though! I don’t know if it’s going to even work!” If he hadn’t responded to salt or iron, what were the chances any of the rest of it would work? “Nothing’s scared Hayes or thrown him off!”

Dean grunted. “Worth a shot isn’t it? C’mon Sam!”

“But—"

With a shout Dean swung out at Hayes, making him flicker. Dean glanced back at Sam and Sam froze, feeling too seen and small. “You can do this,” Dean said firmly. “There’s no one else I trust, there’s no one else who can put it together. No one else I depend on. You’ve gotten us through this hell hole, you’re going to get this stupid Mark off my arm, because I know you, Sammy. You can _do this_!”

Hayes came back with a howl, bearing down on Dean, and barreled them both into a nearby wall. Dean fought to keep the strap from coming at him, arms shaking as he struggled to keep Hayes off. Hayes growled at him and Dean bared his own teeth and forced him back, but it wasn’t going to last. It was up to Sam now and he had to do this. For Dean, he had to try.

Sam ground his teeth together and pulled it all together. It was enough to send every ghost in the nearby vicinity packing, but he wasn’t really sure what it was going to do with Hayes. Hayes wasn’t acting like any spirit Sam had ever seen. It reminded him too much of the farmer from Texas, the tulpa that hadn’t reacted to anything.

Sam froze. Tulpa. A thought-form.

“Sam!” Dean choked out, the strap getting closer and closer to his neck. “ _Sammy_!”

They’d been fighting thought-forms all night. Sam took a chance and swung his flashlight up. Hayes had a beard that was completely out of control but underneath—

There it was. And everything fell into place.

“Gina!” Sam shouted. “Gina, stop!”

Hayes flickered. “Gina!” Sam yelled again, and Hayes winked out of existence.

Against the wall, Dean panted. “You okay?” Sam asked.

“What the hell?” Dean asked him, but it wasn’t in anger, it was in absolute bewilderment. “Is Hayes scared of Gina?”

“Other way around,” Sam said, pulling the kit together again now that Dean’s life wasn’t in immediate danger. They needed to clean the asylum, now.

“What’s going on?” Laura shouted from above.

“Laura, _go_!” both Dean and Sam yelled up.

They were treated to a dirty face with an even dirtier look. “Why did you call for Gina?”

Oil in the bowl, herbs on top. “The only two things that haven’t come together at any point tonight have been Gina and Hayes. Which I’ve been grateful for, but why? And Gina was clearly scared of him, if she was pushing us away from him.”

Dean glanced around, pipe back in his hands. “Y’know how I said you could figure it out? That’s great, but you could help me figure it out, too.”

“Hayes is a thought-form,” Sam finally said. He grabbed the blade and winced as he pricked his thumbs. The blood dripped into the bowl.

“Like a tulpa?”

“Look out!”

Sam inhaled sharply. Dean immediately spun around at Laura’s voice, pipe ready. Hayes stood before them, eyes dark and angry.

And there, under his beard, was the leather strap sewn into his cheek.

Slowly Sam stood. In front of them, Hayes glared at him in clear hatred, pinholes etched into his neck to match the clear marks left behind by the strap. He wondered how long he’d been haunting Gina.

Sam stepped in front of Dean, making Dean reach for him, but Sam shook his head. He had this, and it was his turn to protect Dean. Hayes still hadn’t moved. “Let him go,” Sam said.

Hayes flickered. “What?” Dean said, still not understanding.

“She’s been our worst nightmares,” Sam called over his shoulder. “She’s been nightmare after nightmare for everyone but she’s also been her own. She _is_ Hayes. She created Hayes, or they merged, or something else, I don’t know. But whenever Hayes shows up, she disappears because she is Hayes. He’s _her_ worst nightmare. And she needs to let him go. She’s the only one that can take care of him, really.”

“What?”

“You faced down your worst nightmare,” Sam answered Laura, “and she stopped becoming the woman from the basement. We faced down our worst nightmares and they faded away. The only one who’s going to have a chance of taking Hayes out is Gina.”

Hayes flickered again and there, behind him, within him, was Gina. “Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered.

There was only a faded image of Hayes, still so angry, but Gina just looked…small. “Let him go,” Sam told her. “You have to get rid of him.”

“I can’t,” she said, and her voice was light and trembling. She didn’t look like the spirit who’d terrorized them all night. She looked like—

She looked just like Laura had: frightened, tired, and so very alone.

Hayes became less faded and more solid, and Gina faded out. “Gina!” Sam yelled, but she was gone.

A hand hauled him back and behind Dean as Hayes advanced. Sam’s neck ached in memory as Hayes raised the strap up, ready to choke and kill.

“Wait,” Dean said, and he glanced back at Sam. “You said nothing scared Hayes, but that’s not true. The hung spirits—”

They hadn’t been coming after Sam and Dean, they’d been reacting to Hayes. Well, Gina, but really, it was Hayes that they wanted.

It was crazy and random and everything that he’d yelled at Dean for doing in the last haunted hotel they’d taken on. But it was their last chance. Their only chance.

“Hey!” he shouted as loudly as he could. “Hayes is right here! And he’s the one you want!”

Hayes wasn’t glaring anymore. Hayes had gone still, so still, and suddenly there was a flood of spirits. All of the death echoes, all the hung spirits, they were there inside the room, and they were staring straight at Hayes. The group surrounded him on every side, from every angle, a perfect circle of death. As one their arms rose, hands aimed straight at his neck.

If Gina couldn’t do it, there were plenty of others who were more than happy to finish the job.

Yeah, they didn’t need to be here for this part. “Dean, go,” Sam called, and they hurried for the wall near the doors. One handed was going to make this infinitely more difficult, but Sam wasn’t sure he could pull Dean up. “C’mon, go.”

“After last time, I’m lifting you—”

“I can’t pull you up,” Sam confessed. “I can push but I don’t know that I’ll have the ability to lay flat and pull you up. Dean, c’mon, _go_.”

Dean cursed but finally put his boot in Sam’s palm. With a massive heave Sam sent Dean straight up, where Dean caught the edge of the doorway. “Hurry!” Laura shouted.

Sam glanced back at the spirits. Hayes was clearly trapped with nowhere to go, but he flickered again and there was Gina, just as trapped as Hayes. Sam felt his heart ache in his chest because she’d been a kid, just a kid, subjected to torture and horrible things for being someone she’d never asked to be, someone she’d been born into. She’d never asked for what had followed.

She wasn’t evil, not really. Psychotic for sure, but not evil. Hayes was, but she wasn’t, and she deserved a chance to be saved.

A rope suddenly dropped down, almost catching Sam in the face. It was tied in a neat loop, just wide enough to put a boot in. “Get up here!” Dean shouted.

Sam quickly put his foot in and grabbed hold with his good arm. The rope rose steadily, big jumps at a time as Dean clearly gave it his all, and Sam finally had the reach to catch his arm over the edge of the doorway. Two hands, strong and familiar, caught him by the back of the jacket and hauled him up, and then he was on the porch, safely outside.

His eyes immediately turned back to the spirits below. All of them were snarling now, hands reaching for any pound of flesh they might be able to get a hold of, and Hayes flickered. There was a roar starting, their growls and anger growing minute by minute, and they flickered and glowed brighter and brighter. Hayes _howled_ and Gina—

Gina looked scared. Properly scared since the first time Sam had seen her.

He couldn’t help it. He stepped back inside, just enough to be inside. “ _Sammy_!” Dean shouted.

“Gina!” Sam yelled above the din. Her eyes went to his, the leather strip only making her frightened visage all the wider. “Let him go!”

“I, I can’t,” she called back, small and so scared. “I don’t know how!”

Any second now and she was going to be devoured along with Hayes. There had to be something she wanted more, something that was greater than her fears. Something she’d risk everything for.

And suddenly he knew.

He grabbed the other door and flung it open until the entire doorway was clear. “The doors are open!” he shouted. “Gina, _go_!”

Gina stared as the spirits descended, and then she disappeared under them. Sam gasped, hand twitching with the urge to grab her and pull her out.

And then.

Suddenly she was out from under the pile, running through the spirits, racing for the door, climbing invisible stairs until she’d reached the doorway, and she ran through with a laugh, eyes bright. There was a flash of light and then she was gone. Free. She was free.

A howl came from below and Sam could see again just in time to see the spirits catch hold of Gina’s nightmare, the last remnant of Hayes. His howl grew louder and louder, almost as loud as their growls and screams of rage, and the light grew painfully bright.

A hand caught him by the back of his shirt and tugged him down and away, just in time. The lights exploded, blinding him, and he threw his good hand over his face. The noise was almost too much, digging into his ears and burning his eardrums.

And then it was silent.

Slowly Sam blinked and sat up, ears still ringing. The inside of the hotel lobby was dark and quiet. He glanced into the hole and found it empty. Everyone was gone.

He found himself tugged back again, this time to a pissed-off brother glaring at him. For the first time in days, however, the sight didn’t make him frightened, or set his anxiety and shame running. It just made him grin. Because that anger was all freaked out big brother.

“You stupid asshole, you could’ve fallen in and _died_ ,” Dean seethed. “Don’t _do_ that to me,” and he tugged Sam into his embrace. It brushed against Sam’s bad shoulder in the world’s worst way but Sam clung back with his good arm. Screw his shoulder, he wasn’t letting go. Not now, not with the first real hug he’d had since Dean had come back to himself.

Finally, it felt like he had his big brother back.

They both wound up parting, however, hissing as various injuries made themselves known. “Don’t do it again,” Dean told him, then flinched and tried to clearly nurse his back.

“Yeah, well, same to you,” Sam told him, carefully cradling his arm even with the sling.

“You two are stupid.”

They both glanced up at Laura who stood there, dusty and scratched to hell and back but still crossing her arms and glaring at them. “Seriously. It’s not even me being mean anymore. You’re just stupid.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and got Sam to standing. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go find your parents.”

“And pizza,” Sam told her.

Laura just shook her head. “I need a bed first. Then pizza. And ice cream. And chocolate. And YouTube.”

Dean snorted, as if helpless to keep it contained, and Sam just grinned. Together they headed out through the tall grass and weeds towards the fence.


	13. All’s Well That Ends Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to our finish at last. Some of you have asked about a certain archangel, so that's wrapped up here.

The hospital was filled with bright lights and a minimal amount of noises. Certainly a distinct lack of screaming.

Dean thought it was the best thing he’d seen in a long time.

He found himself rousing from his dozing as Sam was brought back to his room, Martin following behind. “How’d it go?” Dean asked.

“I’ll get the results as soon as I can,” Martin promised. “But it sounds like it went off without a hitch. Just sit tight for a bit. How’s the back?”

“Hurts,” Dean told him. “I’ve had worse.”

“When did you say was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”

“Two years ago. I’m good.”

Martin nodded and headed back out to the hospital hallway. It gave Dean a chance to look his brother over for himself.

Surprisingly, Martin and Diane had been waiting for them outside the fence. Apparently they’d camped out there not long after Dean and Sam had left, unable to rest with their baby inside. There’d been the usual bout of tears and hugs, and Martin had even come forward and hugged Dean. Unfortunately, he’d also slapped Dean in the back rather emphatically, and Dean had about passed out.

That was when Dean had found out that Martin wasn’t just a doctor, he was a pushy doctor with clout at the nearby hospital, and he was absolutely taking the both of them in.

With it being the morning time-frame, there hadn’t been a lot of others admitted yet, so they’d breezed through pretty easily. Laura had been checked out and declared tired, dehydrated, and a little bruised. She’d live.

Sam and Dean were a little…more than bruised.

Dean’s back had had several shards of wood buried deep enough that Martin had considered calling in a surgeon. In the end, with a hefty dose of anesthesia, they were able to remove the wood and patch up the hole from what appeared to have been a nail. One of the pieces of wood had been dangerously close to his spine, something that he was glad Sam hadn’t been around to hear. It explained the dizziness and the tingling he’d felt, but with the wood out, he felt a lot better. Of course, that was probably the drugs talking, but whatever. He was on a cocktail at the moment and feeling fine.

Sam had managed to avoid a concussion, startling Dean, but the shoulder had more than made up for all the other injuries Sam had earned over the night. Not to mention the exhaustion that had all but hung off of Sam now that they were out. Martin had taken Sam in for x-rays and immediately called for a surgeon. After a lot of unhappiness on Sam’s part, Dean had encouraged him to get it done. “I’m right here,” he’d promised. “Not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” Sam had finally said, and they’d taken him for what Martin had promised as a quick out-patient level surgery.

That had been over two hours ago, but it looked like Sam was just as doped up as Dean felt. At least Dean wasn’t lying down. Or at least, he didn’t think he was. Sam definitely was, and a good thing to, or he’d probably have fallen over.

Dean was _so_ very drugged.

“Did’ju call Jody?”

Dean focused on Sam’s slurred words. “Not yet. Mentioned it to Diane. Hoping she took care of it.” He’d figured it would give her something to do besides fret over Laura.

“D’n.”

He raised an eyebrow when Sam didn’t continue. “You are so very stoned right now,” he said. Sam slowly brought his good hand up and, after floundering around a bit, managed to get his middle finger up along with his pinky. Dean grinned. Message received.

Sam worked to make words, but they clearly weren’t coming easily. “Just rest, Sammy,” Dean finally said, taking pity on his little brother. “The words will make sense later. Maybe.”

“W’nna talk t’you.”

“I’ll be here later. Promise.”

Sam gave a lopsided grin. It was better than the pained, feared look he’d worn for most of the night. “No, _now_.”

“Demanding,” Dean muttered, but dammit it was good to see some sort of spark from Sam. And a decided lack of silence, even if it meant he wasn’t resting. If it wasn’t one thing…

“She nev’r did my…my worst nightmare. Th’other one. Th’one…th’one down there.”

Dean went still. Sam gazed at him, eyes deep and knowing. “I kinda wondered about that,” Dean finally admitted. “She plucked me out, but Lucifer, not at all. I mean, I know I’m awesome, but—”

“I don’t think she could,” Sam said, slowly eking out the words. “Think…think he was too much.” He swallowed hard. “Most of what I dream about…s’not human. Don’t think…”

Sam had seen Lucifer in all of his archangel glory while in the Cage. The sight that made people go blind, that struck others dead on the spot. What had Cas said once, that he was the size of the Chrysler building? Who the hell knew how big an archangel got?

Well. Sam knew. And Dean wasn’t about to ask.

No wonder Gina hadn’t been Lucifer. He’d been too large, too monstrous an idea for her to grasp, let alone emulate. He reached out and caught Sam’s good hand and dug his thumb into the palm. Sam closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to slump into the pillows.

Had Sam spent the night watching, waiting for Lucifer? Wondering if the next shifting would be the worst being Sam could think about?

“Knew it wasn’t you.”

It took Dean a minute to figure out just what Sam was referring to. “What, the nightmare?” he asked slowly. “At least there was a leather strip to make it clear.”

“No.”

Dean frowned. He so didn’t have the brain capacity to deal with this right then and there but it was important, dammit, because Sam wasn’t being silent anymore, Sam was talking again. “No?”

Sam licked his lips, clearly trying to string words together in a coherent form. “No, I mean, before. In th’bunker. Knew it wasn’t you. Kept talkin’ like…like you were someone else. And y’were. You weren’t my brother.”

Dean forced himself to breathe in evenly, suddenly feel far more sober than he wanted to be. “It was me, Sam,” he said quietly. “Every inch of it.”

“It really wasn’t. You were bein’ drowned by darkness, overtaken by it. It wasn’t what you’d do. That evil? Not m’brother.”

It was said with such conviction that Dean had a hard time fighting back against it. “I should know,” Sam continued, a crooked grin on his face. “Been there, done that.”

Dean took another breath but this one came easier. Because Sam did know, and now Dean really understood. The demon blood had changed Sam but it hadn’t really been Sam. Looked like him, acted like him, had his memories. But it hadn’t been his brother. It hadn’t really been Sam without his soul, either. Walked, talked, did all the right (and wrong) things. But it hadn’t been Sam.

Sam, the kid who could spend a whole night exhausted and freaked out and facing down his literal worst nightmare and still look at Dean like Dean was worth something. The guy who’d pulled his ass out of the fire even when it had nearly cost him his life.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, almost choking on his emotions. Sam’s smile broadened a little before he closed his eyes. “Get some rest. We’ll be discharged sooner rather than later and then you’ll be off the meds and feeling every inch of it.”

“Least it got set right this time,” Sam mumbled. “Better’n last time.”

There was a long story there that Dean still didn’t know, one he’d get out of Sam at some point. “Rest, Sammy,” he said, taking Sam’s hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam’s lips curled up a bit before evening out in sleep. Dean closed his eyes and followed him down.

It was fitting that their farewells were conducted in a pizza parlor. Three days later, after a lot of sleep, some hospital time, and a chance to put together one last file on the case, they met at a local pizzeria and ordered more pizzas than Dean had seen in a while.

Laura had been overjoyed to see them, racing forward and catching them both in a big hug. Even while Diane had clearly been concerned about her aggravating injuries, Dean hadn’t been, sweeping her up and spinning her around to make her laugh, and Sam had effortlessly lifted her with his good arm. Then there’d been pizza and drinks and Laura telling them about the game she’d been playing with her friend (with nothing scary in it) and the homework she’d had to catch up on and had they watched any television at the hospital because her favorite show came on around four in the afternoon and she’d missed a few episodes.

It had felt amazing to sit and watch her talk and just _be_. They’d done it.

He also found it fitting that Laura brought it up. “So, is the place all clear of ghosts?” she asked. “Or is it still haunted?”

“Not likely,” Sam told her when it was clear that Diane and Martin wanted the answer, too. “I’m pretty sure they all got what they were hanging around for: Hayes. Or the remnant of him.”

“Explain that,” Laura said, frowning. “Because I’m still kinda confused. Gina was the doctor all along? Did she…y’know, kill Hayes all those years ago?”

“It was and wasn’t Hayes, the best I can figure.” Sam pulled out a file and handed it over. “And no, she didn’t kill Hayes. Someone else did.”

Dean blinked, because this was news to him. “You know who did it.”

Sam just raised an eyebrow. Of course he did. “Then who?” Diane asked.

“Someone who’d like to live out her last days in peace at the old folks’ home,” Sam said. “Someone who watched them turn her family’s legacy into something horrific, according to what she told me over the phone when I called.”

Dean stared. “Wait, Mrs. Howard, the heiress administrator? _She_ killed Hayes?”

“She was the most vocal against what he was doing. I bet that included Gina’s, um, ‘treatments’.” Sam made a face. “If I had to guess, Gina tried to escape during the riot. Hayes caught her and grabbed her.”

“Howard had enough and strangled Hayes,” Dean finished. “But Gina was probably already dying.”

“So when they died together, they, what, melded?” Martin asked. “Is that even possible?”

“I think it was more Gina creating her own nightmare and sort of creating Hayes as a spirit,” Sam said. “It was her memory of him. I’m pretty sure that’s why he was so powerful. He was the worst thing that Gina could think to create, and she couldn’t control it.”

“But she’s free now, right?” Laura asked, voice quiet. Diane put her arm around her daughter and Laura leaned into it. “She got out?”

That was another conversation Dean needed to have, Sam and his bleeding heart, but Sam smiled through his fading bruises. “Yeah. She got out. The bad nightmare part got taken out, but Gina got to go somewhere better.”

The light had felt different than the light that had destroyed Hayes. Sam was right: Gina had gone someplace better. Anywhere had to be better than there. He wasn’t sure if shifters classified as monster or human or somewhere in between, but he hoped she was at peace.

“We’re going to bless it, make sure it’s safe,” Dean assured them. “No one’s going to have to worry about the asylum again.”

“So we’ll never really know how it all started,” Laura said, and she looked pretty irritated about that. Irritated was way better than frightened.

Dean just grinned. “If I had to put money down, I’d say that Hayes started the riot on purpose to prove he was the one handling everything. He probably opened the first few cells and then after that, it was mob rule. And it really got out of control when some of the nurses and orderlies clearly aligned with the patients. Some didn’t, but some clearly did.”

They got back to eating pizza after that, and Laura insisted on dragging them over to her favorite frozen yogurt place. Only after they’d eaten their fill of sweets did they say their goodbyes. “Please stay another day in the room,” Martin insisted. “It’s paid up through tomorrow. Go sleep it off and then head back.”

“And thank you,” Diane said, and there were sudden tears in her eyes. “God, I can’t thank you enough. You and Jody, you’ve saved our family twice now.”

There was something else on her face, a loathing that Dean knew too well, and he suddenly found himself stepping back towards them. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Just know that, okay? You can’t fight against evil like that. And what it made you do, that’s not on you either.”

Diane’s cheeks went pink. “They still love you, and they still need you,” Sam added softly from behind him. “So just keep fighting, all right? Always keep fighting.”

After a moment she nodded, a jerky head nod that spoke volumes about her emotions. Laura took her hand with a smile and Martin rested a hand on her shoulder. She was surrounded by those who loved her, and she’d make it through. They’d be okay.

So would Sam; Dean would make sure of it.

They headed back to the car and their hotel room. Just as they got into the car, however, Sam put his hand over the ignition. Dean didn’t say anything, and he hated the silence but sometimes it was easier to hide in.

“That goes for you too,” Sam said quietly. “I still need you.” _I still love you_. “Just…keep fighting.”

The Mark burned on his arm briefly, and Dean forced it down. For Sam, he’d do anything. “As long as you keep fighting beside me,” he said.

Sam smiled at him. “What else am I here for?”

Dean shook his head and started up the car. A bed sounded really good at the moment. They’d head back in the morning.

Then, when they got back, Dean was getting a contract drawn up in blood and witnessed by anyone he could think of that they were never doing another hotel again. _Ever_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed the nod to Jared Padalecki's AKF campaign.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and support! It's greatly appreciated.
> 
> There may or may not be a bit of a break in posting things, but you can always come follow me on social media. @jmrhineheart


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